


The Body on the Battlefield

by 18lzytwner



Series: Bones - Second Series [2]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-15
Updated: 2009-01-15
Packaged: 2019-06-12 17:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 25,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/18lzytwner/pseuds/18lzytwner
Summary: A body turns up at a Civil War battlefield and Bones find something that turns the case upside down. She also discovers the killer who got away is back. 2nd in new series.





	1. Chapter 1

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Thursday at 10:30 am**

          Dr. Temperance Brennan stood on the platform examining some bones that had been found by a hiker at the Antietam National Battlefield.  From time to time this happened as some bodies had been buried without grave markers.  Graves had been erected for both Union and Confederate soldiers (who were buried in separate cemeteries), most of which had names on them, but some only stated that it was “Unknown Solider Number” with up to a three-digit number after the final word.  Sometimes bodies could be identified by having Angela recreate a face and sometimes the skull was too damaged or parts were missing which made the identification impossible.

          She carefully examined the pieces of the body they had dug up and the artifacts that had been found late yesterday afternoon.  The belt buckle would seem to indicate the body was in fact from the Civil War but something was amiss.  No other artifacts were recovered.  Usually they buried soldiers with everything they were wearing, which would have included their boots, clothes, and any personal items.  There was no evidence of any metal objects or even the leather boots, which quite often remained somewhat intact.  Of course the disappearance of these items wasn’t totally out of the question either.  If they had no name for him, nothing would have stopped another soldier from taking his boots, his gun, his bayonet, or anything else that could have been valuable.

          Sighing, she examined the bones more closely.  More questions were raised as to its authenticity when she examined the bullet hole in the reconstructed sternum, which lie in four pieces, and corresponding gouge in one of the vertebrae.  Quickly she headed over to the phone on the platform and called Cam.

          “So what’s up?  I thought this one was going to be pretty routine?”  The Head of Forensics asked.

          “So did I until I examined the skeleton.  Look at this,” Brennan pointed out the sternum and Cam leaned in for a closer look.

          “It’s a bullet hole,” she replied.

          “Exactly.  But look at the size of it,” the forensic anthropologist pointed out.

          “Its about the size of a nine millimeter,” Cam realized.

          “In the Civil War, muskets were still in use but with a new type of bullet called the Minié ball.  It wasn’t actually a ball but more of the shape of bullets today.  However in order to be used with a muzzle-loading rifle, they had to be very large caliber and of course still made with lead.  This left huge wounds in the victim and easily shattered bones.  Most cases it was better to amputate then try to find all of the bone fragments,” Brennan explained.

          “So no chance the sternum remained this intact,” the coroner said.

          “No.  This man was killed over a hundred years later.  No doubt whoever killed him figured no one would go digging on the old battlefield.  Only thing was that the ground tends to shift and erode.  Our victim wasn’t buried very deep and our killer attempted to make it look as though it was a Civil War soldier.  Call Booth,” Brennan nodded.

          “Will do.  Can you estimate how long he’s been in the ground?”  She wanted to know.

          “I’ll have it by the time Booth gets here,” the forensic anthropologist promised.  Cam picked up the phone and gave the FBI agent the information they’d collected.

          “He’ll be right over,” Cam said.  Brennan nodded and continued to look at the bones more closely.

          True to his word, Booth arrived fifteen minutes later.  He scanned himself into the platform and now joined the team, which had gathered on the platform.

          “Cam said you found a body at Antietam but it isn’t a Civil War soldier.  Do you want to explain that a little better to me?”  The G-man had a puzzled look on his face.

          “Upon further investigation, I can say with certainty that this man was between the ages of twenty-five and thirty, and was buried almost thirty years ago,” Brennan said.

          “So that would definitely rule out Civil War soldier.  Ok what else did you find?”  Booth asked.

          “The belt buckle would indicate that it is of a Union soldier from the state of New York however, I believe it was planted to make us think our victim was almost one hundred and forty five years old.  I’m having Hodgins take a closer look for particulates and fingerprints,” his partner explained.

          “From a cursory glance I’d say the buckle is in fact authentic.  That means you could be looking for a Confederate who collects Yankee paraphernalia,” Hodgins was really enjoying himself.  Booth shook his head and let out a sigh.

          “So our victim was buried in the eighties in a National Park with an authentic Union Civil War belt buckle.  Do I want to ask what killed him?”  The FBI agent wanted to know.

          “A nine millimeter bullet to the sternum,” Simon spoke up.

          “Wow, he’s still around?  I’m impressed,” Booth smiled.

          “Simon has proven to be very helpful and eager, but not too eager,” Angela smirked.

          “Anyway as Dr. Brennan had pointed out to Dr. Saroyan there is no way a Minié ball made this wound.  Yes the Minié made the rifles more accurate and they could pierce through a body but the sternum would have been completely obliterated,” Simon explained.

          “He’s been hanging around Hodgins too long,” Booth said.

          “So what we have is murder,” Cam said, ignoring that last comment.

          “I’ll say and our killer is going to be between the ages of forty-nine and one-hundred.  Care to narrow my scope?”  Booth wondered.

          “Why assume forty-nine?”  Angela asked.

          “Because that would make him born in nineteen sixty or at least twenty years old at the time of the shooting.  I’d prefer not to think that our killer was younger,” the G-man explained.

          “I’m hoping to narrow things down with a more thorough examination of the bones and any evidence we find,” Brennan was confident.

          “I certainly hope so otherwise we’ll be digging through a decade of missing persons cases,” Booth couldn’t stomach that idea.  No doubt there were hundreds of cases.  Brennan saw his point and nodded.

          “Well everyone back to work.  We have a murderer to catch,” Cam steered the group in the right direction.  Everyone began to disperse and Brennan had Simon start examining the bones.

          “Booth would you come to my office a second?  I have something you need to see,” the forensic anthropologist said.

          “Sure Bones,” the tone of her voice made him slightly nervous.  Whatever it was it certainly wasn’t something he was going to like.  The two went into her office and she closed the door.

          “This came in this morning’s mail,” she handed him an envelope that had no return address and the Jeffersonian address was written in all block letters.  Noticing the stamp on it, the letter had been routed through a post office in Greenbush, Minnesota.  Opening the envelope, he pulled out the piece of paper and immediately recognized the magazine clippings that made up words.  Then he read the letter.

          “Dr. Brennan, don’t forget the surprise inside.”  It was followed by coordinates, which he assumed meant another body.

          “He’s taunting you,” Booth said.

          “Yes, well it’s working.  I put those coordinates into my computer and they gave me my address,” Brennan told him.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Thursday at 1:00 pm**

          “When did you get this?”  Booth asked.

          “A few hours ago.  Around the time they brought the body in,” Brennan said.

          “Why didn’t you call me?”  He wanted to know.

          “I wanted to.  Then I discovered we had a murder on our hands and I got absorbed in the bones,” she sighed.  This was obviously draining her.  Inside Booth was frustrated but he knew that wasn’t what she needed.  She needed support and reassurance.

          “It’s all right Bones.  Just promise me next time some thing like this happens, call me right away,” he smiled slightly and placed his hands on her shoulders.  Brennan nodded and asked,

          “So what’s next?”

          “Well you aren’t going back to your place.  I’ll send a few agents over to sweep the place and check for suspicious packages.  Tonight you’d better stay here.  Security will be tight and we won’t have to endanger the rest of the team,” her partner explained.  She nodded. 

“We do have to inform the team though.  I’ll have the FBI lab fingerprint and run DNA on this letter,” Booth said.

“And what do I do?”  Brennan asked.

“Find out who buried our victim at Antietam.  Don’t let this guy stop you from doing what you love best,” he smiled and headed back out into the lab.  He had phone calls to make and Jeffersonian employees to inform.

Later, Brennan stood over the skeleton looking for any signs of evidence.  Booth was handling both this case and the threatening letter she’d gotten.  He promised to be right back after a package bearing the same handwriting and post office stamp was found at her apartment and the agents wanted him there to pick it up.  Cam had borrowed the right femur for DNA and she hoped that a run through the system would give them an ID.  Angela was using the skull to create a picture as well. 

“Dr. Brennan?”  Simon interrupted her thoughts.

“Yes?”  She looked at him.  He’d been examining the legs and trying to discover the age of the healed fractures in the left tibia.

“Are you ok?”  It was a legitimate question despite not being about the bones at hand.  For a moment, she considered not even answering it but Simon was a good forensic anthropologist and she felt he deserved an answer.

“I have been sent body parts before so a little letter isn’t going to frighten me however Jay Moore managed to show he knows where I live and that bothers me,” the answer was truthful and Simon nodded.  He knew she didn’t like to talk about her feelings but her honesty was what attracted him to the job.  She would tell him what he was doing right or wrong and there was no question about where she stood.

          “Did you find anything?”  Brennan changed the subject.

          “Only that the leg completely healed before he was murdered.  I’m afraid that doesn’t help much,” he sighed.  She nodded and turned her attention back to the ribs.

          “I got a hit!”  Cam announced as she scanned herself into the platform.

          “And the winner is?”  Hodgins asked as he scanned himself in to the platform as well.

          “Sam Butter, age twenty-seven.  Went missing July eighth, nineteen eighty-one,” the Head of Forensics replied.

          “Sam Butter?  Who names their kid that?”  The entomologist shook his head.

          “Someone who obviously didn’t like their child,” Simon said.

          “Alert Booth.  We’ll need his missing persons file,” Brennan told them.

          “I left him a voicemail,” Cam nodded.

          “So any theories on why someone would shoot this guy?”  The coroner continued.

          “He probably asked someone to do it with a name like that,” Hodgins chuckled, as did Simon.  Brennan rolled her eyes and ignored them.

          “Whoever it was, was a very good shot.  The chances of hitting the sternum in such a way that in only broke into four pieces are astronomical,” she said.

          “What if our killer placed the gun to his chest?”  Simon wondered.

          “It’s possible and the angle would seem to suggest it.  I’ll have Angela work up a trajectory since we don’t need a face anymore,” Brennan was glad the intern was back to business.

          “Sounds good.  Hopefully Booth will be by soon,” Cam agreed.

          “Ask and you shall receive,” the FBI agent was half way to the platform.

          “So what did you find?”  Brennan asked.

          “First, here’s that file you asked for.  Second, the package in your apartment is at the FBI lab for testing.  In order for things to be impartial, they’d better take a look at it.  I want the case against Jay Moore to be air-tight,” he explained.

          “What was in the package?”  Hodgins wanted to know.

          “A pair of eyes.  Baby blues, if you must know,” Booth looked like he was going to lose his lunch.

          “Eyes?”  Cam had a thoughtful look on her face.

          “Is he trying to tell me something?”  Brennan wondered.

          “They say the eyes are the window to the soul,” Booth shrugged.

          “I’m willing to bet, he wants you to look for something.  No doubt, he’ll send you more notes,” Hodgins said.

          “Why?  There is DNA in those eyes.  We’ll be able to identify the victim,” Brennan looked confused. 

          “Won’t tell you where they’re buried or what he did with the rest of the body,” the entomologist pointed out.

          “It’s a game of cat and mouse,” Cam nodded.

          “And I’m guessing I’m the mouse,” Brennan said.

          “So it would seem,” Booth shook his head.  His concern for his partner made this situation unbearable.  They had no idea where Jay Moore was or why he continued to taunt them instead of leaving the US.  He’d had a lead on them in the time department and still the bastard remained in the States.  The Canadian government had been warned too but there was so much unoccupied space up there, Moore could have mailed the note and package as he was on his way toward the border.  Worse still, if he were caught, Canada would only extradite him if the threat of the death penalty was off the table.

          “Well Bones, why don’t we have a look at the missing persons file?”  He hoped to change the subject.

          “Sounds good.  We need to know who was the last person to see him,” Brennan nodded.  Booth opened the file and read.

          “Butter was reported missing by his folks when he didn’t show up for their Fourth of July festivities.  Given the holiday and the fact that Butter was an adult, they waited three days then were able to file a report,”

          “He could have been dead and buried before three days,” Brennan shook her head.

          “Anyway, they searched for weeks but found nothing.  No note, his car was still at his apartment, and so was his wallet and keys.  It was a blitz attack.  The murderer came to his apartment, grabbed him, and killed him sometime later,” her partner told the group. 

          “So who was the last to see him?”  Hodgins asked.

          “The girlfriend, Mandy Manning,” Booth said.

          “So I guess we know where to start,” Brennan nodded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mandy Manning’s Apartment, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Thursday at 4:00 pm**

          The almost ninety minute drive to Sharpsburg gave Booth and Brennan an opportunity to discuss in more detail the other case they were working on.  The FBI lab was looking for DNA from the eyes and anything on the notes but so far the notes had turned up zip.  Also Charlie had been assigned to heading out to Greenbush, Minnesota to see what he could find.  If anything pertinent came up while he was out there he was to follow up.  With everything set up, Booth had agreed to escort her to her apartment to get some things before heading back to the Jeffersonian.  Surprisingly, Brennan did not argue and Booth wasn’t sure what to make of that.

          “Here we are,” her partner smiled as they pulled onto the main thoroughfare of Sharpsburg.  

          “This is a very small town,” Brennan commented.

          “Yeah, you would have thought when Sam Butter went missing there wouldn’t have been a lot of suspects.  Heck considering where the body was found, I can’t believe someone didn’t find it earlier,” Booth looked around as he turned down the first street he came to.

          “Very odd indeed,” Brennan agreed as she watched the people outside.

          “I suspect they know we aren’t tourists,” she pointed out as they all gave the big black SUV a dirty look.

          “In a town this small word travels fast.  No doubt someone at the sheriff’s office tipped off someone else,” the G-man shook his head and pulled up next to a small apartment building.

          “That just means that people won’t want to talk,” she sighed.

          “Very likely but we have to give it a shot Bones.  Someone around here knows something,” he gave slight smile and they both hopped out of the vehicle.  Heading inside, Brennan turned to him.

          “Where does Mandy live?”  She asked.

          “Apartment 2.  Upstairs,” he pointed.  She nodded and they went upstairs.  Booth knocked on the door and when a middle-aged woman with graying hair answered the door, he identified himself,

          “Hi, I’m FBI Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is Dr. Temperance Brennan, can we come in?”  A flash of the badge was all it took and the woman nodded.

          “So let me guess you’re here about Sam,” the woman said.

          “Yes ma’am, we have some questions for you,” Booth smiled.

          “Please call me Mandy.  Now come on in,” she smiled back as she let the partners in.

          “Would you like some iced tea?  I just made it,” Mandy offered after they took their seats on her couch.

          “Yes please,” Brennan smiled and she was rewarded with a glass.  Booth declined however and he dove right in.

          “What made you think we were here about Sam?”  He asked.

          “Sheriff Townshend called me.  I guess he wanted to make sure I was going to be here,” Mandy smiled.

          “Did he tell you why we’re investigating now?”  Booth wondered.

          “No, just that you had some questions,” she answered.

          “Sam’s body was discovered by some hikers walking through Antietam National Battlefield,” Brennan filled in.  A sigh escaped Mandy’s lips and she nodded.

          “After all this time I kind of figured he was dead, I just didn’t want to admit it,”

          “I’m sorry about your loss but I do need to ask you some questions.  Do you know anyone who would have wanted to hurt him?”  Booth asked.

          “The detectives asked me that before and to this day I haven’t been able to come up with anyone.  Sam always paid his bills on time, worked at the grocery store, and volunteered for the fire department.  He always took care of his folks and his neighbors.  I don’t understand it,” Mandy was trying hard to hold back tears.

          “Was he into anything?  You know drugs, gambling, that sort of thing?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “The closest Sam got to drugs was when the doctor gave him a prescription and as for gambling, he played the lottery occasionally but other than that…” she trailed off. 

          “What about his parents?  Did they have any other children?”  The G-man inquired.

          “No, Sam was it.  His mom was forty-seven when he disappeared and after seven years, they declared him legally dead.  After that she found out she had cancer.  Died about a year later.  Old man Butter is still around although I haven’t talked to him in a few years.  He should be about seventy-seven by now,” Mandy wiped a stray tear from her eyes.

          “Keeping track of their birthdays?”  Booth raised an eyebrow.

          “Sam proposed to me about a week before he disappeared.  We’d been dating for almost two years,” she explained.

          “When you last saw him, how was his mood?”  The FBI agent continued on.

          “Good mood, same as always.  We’d had lunch together and he had to go to his parents’ place soon after.  He dropped me off here and then he went to his place.  When he didn’t show up at the Fourth of July, we didn’t know what to do,” Mandy sighed.

          “Thank you very much.  We’ll be in touch.  If you think of anything, please call me,” Booth handed her his card.

          “Thank you,” she smiled slightly and the partners started toward the door when Booth stopped and turned around.

          “One last thing, did Sam ever get into Civil War reenacting?”

          “No but his dad was a big Civil War buff,” Mandy replied.  Booth gave a nod and the partners saw themselves out.

          “I guess I know where we have to go next,” Brennan said.

          “You got it Bones.  Old man Butter’s place,” he looked at his watch.  It was five o’clock.  His stomach rumbled as they got into the SUV.

          “Or maybe dinner?”  She smirked.

          “Let’s go see if Butter is in the mood to talk then we’ll get food on the way home,” he said.  Putting the key in the ignition, Booth fired the vehicle up and headed back toward the police station.  He needed an address.

          “Greg Butter’s address?”  Sheriff Townshend looked at him.

          “Yes.  Is that a problem?”  The FBI agent gave him a look.

          “Well yeah.  Greg has Alzheimer’s,” the sheriff told the partners.

          “Well we’d still like to try to talk to him,” Booth knew that wasn’t going to be easy.

          “He lives at Autumn Acres in Hagerstown.  That’s about thirteen miles to the north,” Townshend said.

          “Thanks, we’ll be in touch,” Booth shook the man’s hand and he and Brennan headed back out to the SUV.

          “Alzheimer’s is a degenerative disease.  You probably won’t get a lucid answer out of Mr. Butter,” Brennan shook her head as he fired the vehicle up again.

          “I know but it can’t hurt to try.  I’m going to call Steve at the Bureau and see if I can’t get some more background info on Greg Butter.  I was kind of hoping he was still living at home.  It would tell us how much this guy was into Civil War memorabilia,” the G-man smacked the steering wheel with his palm as they headed back toward the highway.

          “Do you think Greg Butter killed his son Sam?”  His partner asked.

          “Greg was into Civil War stuff and his son was supposed to be visiting his family before the holiday.  When he didn’t show, no one made a call to the cops until the Fourth of July,” Booth’s gut was telling him something was off.

          “I see your point,” Brennan nodded.

          “But my big question is why?  Mandy thought he was a saint and according to his file, he never missed a day of work or called in late or sick.  Sam wasn’t in debt and he volunteered at the fire company.  What dad would not be proud of his son for that?”  He wondered.  Brennan knew that Booth’s dad hadn’t always been the best to him and she wondered how proud he was of his son.  She knew she was proud to call Booth her partner, best friend, and now boyfriend.  She sighed and watched the SUV turn off onto the Hagerstown exit.


	4. Chapter 4

**Autumn Acres, Hagerstown, Maryland, Thursday at 5:50 pm**

          “We’d like to see Mr. Greg Butter,” Booth flashed his FBI badge at the receptionist.

          “He’s eating dinner now, let me call the Nursing Supervisor,” the woman said giving Booth a big smile.  He played along and gave her one back.  Brennan was tempted to say something but the phone rang and the receptionist answered it.

          “Sandy, I have the FBI at the Front Desk,” she said.  Neither partner could hear the conversation on the other end but they had a pretty good idea the head nurse was flipping out.

          “Uh huh, I know but the conference room is unlocked,” the receptionist said.  A few more words were exchanged and then she hung up.

          “Sandy will be right up.  If you could wait in the Solarium, she’d appreciate that,” she explained.

          “Thank you,” Booth gave her a smile and then went to find a seat with Brennan close behind. 

          “I thought we talked about flirting,” the forensic anthropologist said in a low tone.

          “Sometimes you have to be nice to get what you want Bones.  Besides that wasn’t flirting.  At least not on my part,” Booth gave her a look.  It seemed that Bones had a sense of jealousy lately but he shrugged it off.  It took them a long time to admit to each other their feelings and in the beginning he was sure Bones had to admit it to herself.  Getting attached was something she didn’t try to do.  Fear of losing everything was still on her mind.  He’d sworn to her he’s never leave and he intended to keep that promise.

          “Hi, I’m Sandy,” the Nursing Supervisor broke his thoughts.

          “Hello, I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian.  We’d like to speak to Mr. Greg Butter,” the introduction made the G-man looked at the nurse’s reaction.

          “Why don’t we talk in the conference room?”  Sandy asked.  Booth nodded and the three walked to the door near the reception desk and down a short hallway to the conference room.  Once inside the Nursing Supervisor shut the door.

          “Can I ask what this is about?”  She wanted to know as she took a seat.

          “We are investigating the disappearance of his son Sam.  His body turned up early this morning at Antietam National Battlefield,” Booth explained sitting next to Brennan.

          “Oh dear.  Well I’m not sure if anyone told you but Mr. Butter has Alzheimer’s,” Sandy said.

          “So Sheriff Townshend informed us.  We’d like to talk to him, just to see if he has any information,” the FBI agent told her.

          “Well in order to slow the process of the disease, we try to keep Greg’s routine the same.  It helps him remember what day it is and it seems to be working although some days are better than others too,” the nurse hoped they would understand.

          “Have you tried to give him medicine?  There are drugs out there to slow the process of Alzheimer’s,” Brennan questioned.

          “We tried but after he had a bad reaction to it we stopped.  It interfered with his other medications and his family would rather have him alive than drop dead of a heart attack.  Greg could live for another two or three years,” Sandy told them.

          “Family?  We were under the impression Greg had no family,” Booth gave her a look.

          “He has a brother that comes to visit and he has power of attorney,” Sandy looked confused.

          “What’s his brother’s name?”  The G-man asked.

          “Randy Butter,” the nurse told them.

          “When does he come to visit?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “Every Saturday night after dinner,” Sandy said.  Brennan looked to Booth and he shook his head. 

          “According to Greg’s file, he has no next of kin.  He was an only child and both his wife and son are dead.  After talking with Greg, I’m going to call my supervisor.  We’ll try to nab this guy playing his brother,” the FBI agent told her.

          “All right, call tomorrow morning and you can talk to the head of our facility, his name is Joe Waff,” Sandy let them know.

          “Thank you.  Can we talk to Mr. Butter now?”  Booth asked.  Sandy nodded and led them back out of the conference room and down to Greg’s unit.  They found the elder Mr. Butter sitting in a chair in the lounge room.

          “Hello Greg.  This nice people are here to see you,” Sandy smiled hoping that the man would be in one of his more lucid moods.

          “My show is on soon,” he smiled back.

          “My name is Seeley and this is Temperance,” Booth started.

          “Good names,” Greg replied.

          “I’ve always liked mine.  Do you mind if we talk about your son?”  The FBI agent asked.

          “My son?”  Greg looked confused.

          “Sam,” Brennan clarified.

          “I haven’t seen him in years,” the old man said.

          “We know.  We found him,” Brennan told him.

          “Where?”  Greg wanted to know.

          “He was buried at Antietam,” the forensic anthropologist explained.

          “Sharpsburg,” Mr. Butter corrected.  Brennan leaned over to Booth and whispered,

          “He’s having a more lucid moment.  They only call Antietam, Sharpsburg down in the South.”  Her partner gave her a look and whispered back,

          “But we aren’t in the South,” This gave Brennan a pause as Booth continued,

          “So when did you last speak to Sam?” 

          “Nineteen eighty,” Greg told them.

          “Sir, you reported him missing in nineteen eighty-one,” Booth said.  This caused the old man to pause.  After a few minutes he shook his head,

          “Whatever you say,”

          “Did you have an argument with Sam?”  Booth asked.

          “No,” Greg answered.

          “Did your wife?”  Booth wondered.

          “No,” Greg responded.  Now it was Booth’s turn to shake his head.  This conversation wasn’t going anywhere fast and there was no way to tell if what Mr. Butter had been saying was true.

          “A man sought satisfaction,” the old man said suddenly.

          “Who?”  Brennan asked.

          “Buried as a Yankee,” Greg told them.  Both partners looked at each other.  There was no way he could have known that unless he was there.  They were going to ask him more questions when Greg suddenly had an outburst.

          “I can’t remember damn it!”

          “Ok we’re done here,” Sandy said as she tried to calm the old man down.  Booth sighed and the two partners headed for the exit.  Winding their way down the hall, Brennan couldn’t get something Greg said out of her head.

          “Well that was completely useless,” Booth let out a sigh.

          “You don’t believe him?”  His partner wondered.

          “It doesn’t make sense.  He couldn’t remember the year he last saw his son but he remembered something about satisfaction and being buried as a Yankee,” Booth gave her a look as they exited the nursing home and headed for the SUV.

          “That could be associated with his knowledge of history.  Only Union soldiers were buried at Antietam National Cemetery, hence why he said ‘buried as a Yankee’,” Brennan explained.

          “But the Butter didn’t live in Confederate territory.  Why would he say things like ‘Sharpsburg’ and ‘Yankee’?”  Booth questioned.

          “Perhaps his file will explain things better.  You only asked for next of kin when Steve called you,” his partner reminded him as they entered the SUV and took off toward the highway and Washington D.C.


	5. Chapter 5

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Thursday at 9:20 pm**

          “I don’t know about you but I’m tried and hungry,” Booth announced as they entered the lab.

          “I am hungry but we need to look through Greg Butter’s file,” Brennan said.

          “Steve had it dropped off here.  Why don’t I get us some Thai food and we’ll look through it.  Besides while I’m gone you can see what Angela worked up on the Angelator.  I’m sure it has something useful,” he smiled.

          “Sounds reasonable,” Brennan returned his smile.  Without another word spoken the pair broke up and headed for their respective assignments.

          “So Angela, what do you have?”  She asked the forensic artist.

          “Well the Angelator is almost done.  I would have thought you and Booth would have gone home,” her best friend replied.

          “We need to review Greg Butter’s file.  The interview led to some interesting things and Booth hopes his file may clear the gas,” Brennan told her.

          “You mean ‘clear the air’, sweetie.  Hodgins, Cam, and Simon went home about two hours ago.  I suppose I could have gone too but I wanted to wait for the results,” Angela explained.  The look on her face belied the answer she gave.

          “You wanted something else,” the forensic anthropologist raised an eyebrow.

          “All right, I wanted to catch you and Booth,” her friend answered.

          “About what?”  Brennan asked.

          “Not about something.  More like doing something,” Angela laughed.

          “At the office?”  The world-renowned author gave her a look.

          “Yeah, why not?  Besides the two of you are so cute,” Angela smiled.

          “I suppose what you propose is acceptable especially since you and Hodgins made good use of Egyptian storage and storage closets.  Although I find it highly improbable you’d bring Roxie here,” Brennan told her.

          “The storage rooms didn’t have cameras and no, I wouldn’t bring Roxie here but that is because I don’t work with Roxie,” the forensic artist pointed out.

          “True, still I…” Brennan trailed off as Angela’s computer beeped.

          “Seems as though the Angelator is done.  Should I wait for tomorrow morning to show everyone or do you and Booth want a private viewing?”  She teased.

          “Wait until the morning.  By then we’ll have gone over the file and I’m sure Booth will have some theories,” Brennan ignored the question.         

          “Sounds good.  Oh before I leave, Simon examined the leg fractures and took a look at Sam Butter’s file.  It seems Sam broke his left tibia when he was ten.  Since our killer didn’t use that fact to his advantage, I’d say we’re dealing with someone who only knew him after that,” Angela informed her.

          “Thank you very much.  I’ll see you tomorrow,” Brennan smiled and headed out of the door of Angela’s office.

          “Just think about what I said!”  Her friend called after her.  Brennan shook her head and went back to her office.  Soon Booth brought in their dinner.

          “What’s the smile for Bones?”  He asked.

          “Something Angela said is all,” she smiled back.

          “Putting ideas in your head is she?”  Booth raised an eyebrow.

          “Maybe,” Brennan picked up the Thai food container and opened it.  Some of the sauce got onto her finger and she put it in her mouth seductively.  Booth swallowed hard. 

          “So Greg Butter’s file, it proves to be an interesting read I hear,” he shifted the focus to the case at hand. 

          “I bet,” Brennan sighed as she grabbed some silverware and sat next to him.  Booth moved his hand to her thigh and gave it a squeeze.  She gave him a look. 

          “Well here is an ‘Ah ha’,” Booth swallowed hard again.

          “An ‘Ah ha’?”  The forensic anthropologist asked.

          “Greg Butter lived in Virginia for the first thirty of his life,” he explained.

          “Ah ha, I see.  So that explains why he said ‘Yankee’.  Still doesn’t explain why he said ‘a man demanded satisfaction’.  Back during the Civil War that meant a duel.  One of the men involved would be done what he considered a dishonor,” Brennan said.

          “So someone grabbed a glove and smacked someone’s face and then they took shots at each other?”  Booth questioned.

          “Yes something like that.  It first started when swords were the weapon of choice and then it was guns.  Guns require less skill than swords,” she told him.

          “I don’t know Bones.  Guns require a certain amount of skills,” her partner said.

          “Not everyone has the training you do and yet it is very easy to kill someone especially will lead bullets such as the Minié ball.  Swords are more personal.  You have to get close to kill your opponent.  Look them right in the eyes as you pierce them with your blade,” by this time Bones had gotten up close and personal in Booth’s space. 

          “Easier to satisfy someone when you’re up close and personal to them huh?”  He asked.

          “Yes, up close and personal,” Brennan told him.  Before he could say anything she pressed her lips to his.  He responded but then pulled away.

          “We shouldn’t be doing this here,” he said. 

          “That’s what blinds are for,” she smirked as she stood up and shut the blinds and the door.

**Greenbush, Minnesota, Thursday at 9:00 pm**

                Charlie flopped down on his hotel room bed.  He’d arrived too late to question anyone at the post office.  This case was starting to get ugly and he hoped that he wouldn’t let Booth or Dr. Brennan down. 

          Still something bothered him.  This small town seemed like the perfect place to hide so why send a letter from here leading Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth here?  Shaking his head, he popped off his shoes and turned on the TV. 

          As he flipped through the channels looking for something decent on, the phone rang.  Charlie picked it up.

          “Hello?”  He asked.

          “Hello sir.  There is a letter downstairs at the reception desk for you,” the receptionist said.

          “At this hour?”  Charlie questioned.

          “The mail usually gets delivered around three and this was just sitting in the mailbox.  No one probably paid attention since check in time was four pm,” she told him.

          “All right, I’ll be right there,” he said.  Hanging up the phone, Charlie put his shoes back on and went to the reception desk.

          “Here you are sir,” the receptionist smiled.  Her nametag read “Sally”. 

          “Thank you,” Charlie nodded and he carefully opened it. 

          “You’d better call the sheriff,” the FBI agent said after reading the contents of the letter.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Friday at 7:00 am**

          Booth’s phone rang awakening both partners who had shared the couch the night before.  The FBI agent was up looking around for his pants in which his phone had been in before being carelessly discarded on the floor.  He was successful and quickly answered it.

          “Booth,”

          “It’s Charlie.  We have a bit of a situation out here in Greenbush,” the younger agent said.

          “What kind of situation?”  Booth asked as he watched Brennan get off the sofa with his button down shirt on.  She went to the drawer where she kept a spare outfit for those nights she never went home and then she headed toward the Emergency shower.  Her coworkers would be in soon and they couldn’t get caught like this.

          “The one where there was a letter left at the front desk with the words ‘FBI Special Agent’ on it,” Charlie told him.

          “What did the letter say?”  Booth was hoping this game of guess and tell would end soon.

          “Well it had coordinates and we followed those coordinates to just outside of the city Middle River in Marshall County.  We found a body,” Charlie finally spit it out.

          “Shit,” the older FBI agent muttered.

          “And get this, it had an extra shinbone,” the less-experienced agent said.

          “It’s him.  Who is examining the body?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “The Marshall County Coroner.  It was still mostly a body.  The only bone we found was the shinbone.  What’s weird is the victim is also missing his fingers, teeth, and eyes,” Charlie explained.

          “I want everything shipped to the Jeffersonian ASAP.  Once you’ve wrapped things up out there call me back.  I’ll talk to Cullen,” the ex-Army Ranger told him.

          “You got it,” Charlie said before hanging up.  Shaking his head, Booth collected his clothes and went to find Brennan.

          About an hour later, the team stood in Angela’s office waiting for trajectory reports when Booth walked in.  He had an extra outfit in his SUV so as far as he knew no one suspected a thing.

          “So what have we got?”  He asked.

          “Damn, how’d you get here so fast?”  Hodgins looked at him.

          “I was awoken by a phone call from Charlie early this morning.  More on that after Angela helps us,” Booth gave him a look.

          “Ok, I had the Angelator take a look at the scenario and there are four possibilities as far as trajectory.  Once distance is factored in it doesn’t really narrow things down.  However I can tell you that the shooter was no more than twenty feet away from the victim at the time of the shooting,” Angela explained.

          “So maybe it was a duel.  I don’t know about you but I wouldn’t stand still and let someone shoot at me,” Booth said.

          “Point but what if the shot was through the back.  Sam Butter would never have seen it coming,” Hodgins suggested.

          “True but what would the two be doing out there, if not to duel, unless the possibility of more players is introduced,” Simon told the group. 

          “Have someone hold Sam still before shooting him?  It’s possible and more difficult to prove,” Cam shook her head.

          “Well the belt buckle has five useable prints on it.  I’m running them through the system to see if we get lucky.  The soil on it is indigenous to Maryland so no help there,” the entomologist spoke up.

          “Some of those prints could be from the soldier who originally wore it.  You’ll never get those identified,” Brennan said.

          “Either way, our shooter was either standing directly in front or behind Sam Butter and they shot him.  We’re looking for someone with military skills or experienced hunter.  Also someone around the same height and that could drag or lift one-hundred and eighty-five pounds,” Angela finished her presentation.  Booth had been silent for a few minutes, an intense look on his face.

          “Greg Butter served in Vietnam and he used to stand at six foot one,” he said, making everyone turn to him.

          “Sam was six foot tall,” Brennan told them.

          “But why would he kill his son and then try to cover it up?  At his age when his son went missing, could Greg have lifted his son?”  Cam wondered.

          “No idea on both counts although Sam would turn his back to his father, not thinking his father would shoot him.  Unfortunately, we certainly aren’t getting a clear answer out of the elder Mr. Butter.  Alzheimer’s has made sure to that.  However whoever visits Greg Butter on Saturday nights made the nursing home staff believe that he is his brother.  I called Autumn Acres.  A sting is going to be setup for tomorrow night.  Local PD is going to grab our suspect on a charge of fraud and we’ll take it from there,” Booth explained.

          “So once we have that guy in custody we’ll be able to tell if he is a viable suspect,” Angela said.

          “Yes, hopefully with the info you gave and his fingerprints we’ll be able to tie him to something other than fraud,” Booth nodded.

          “Well what did Charlie have to say?”  Hodgins wanted to know.

          “It seems Jay Moore is back to toying with us.  Charlie received a note at his hotel and with the locals retrieved a body at given coordinates.  I’m having the body shipped to the Jeffersonian.  There was an extra shin bone buried with the identified remains,” the FBI agent sighed.

          “Son of a bitch,” Cam cursed.

          “My sentiments exactly,” Booth shook his head.

          “That’s what he meant by ‘the surprise inside’,” Brennan said.

          “It’s Anna Smits shin bone.  He wants to show us that he got away,” Simon told them.

          “We cannot start making assumptions now.  Process the evidence.  The evidence will speak for itself,” Brennan reminded him.

          “Anyway, the body was missing its eyes which would seem to suggest that it is the same victim whose eyes Bones received in the mail,” her partner explained.

          “Well at least we aren’t looking for another victim.  How long until the body gets here?”  Cam asked.

          “I’m waiting on a call from Charlie.  He’s wrapping things up out in Greenbush,” Booth said.

          “Ok.  Until we get that call, Hodgins keep working on those fingerprints.  Simon, I want the sternum and vertebrae reexamined.  See if you can’t narrow down the direction of the shot that killed Sam Butter.  Angela, prepare to do a sketch when the body gets here.  The eyes have proven the victim isn’t in the system.  Booth, Dr. Brennan, a word,” Cam took charge and the three headed toward Brennan’s office. 

          “How are these two cases being treated?  Is the Jeffersonian responsible for both?”  She asked.

          “As of right now, yes.  I have to speak with Cullen once I hear from Charlie,” Booth explained.

          “I believe the team can handle it but there is a personal aspect here and I want to make perfectly clear, we are all professionals here,” the Head of Forensics said.

          “Of course.  I’m sure Cullen will agree,” Booth understood.

          “Good,” Cam nodded.


	7. Chapter 7

**FBI Interrogation, Saturday at 7:00 pm**  

          Booth sat across from the man who had been pretending to be Greg Butter’s brother.  The sting had gone well and now he hoped the interrogation went just as smoothly.  His brain was also tracking Charlie and the young agent’s pursuit of Jay Moore out in Minnesota.  The latest victim should be arriving later today.  Still with all that going on, Booth turned his attention to the imposter across from him.

          “So can you tell me why you were posing as Mr. Butter’s brother?  Was it to collect on his social security checks?”  Booth asked the man.

          “My name is Ted Butter.  I am Greg’s brother,” the man didn’t back down.

          “According to Mr. Butter’s file, the last of his family died when he wife passed away eight years after the loss of their son, Sam,” Booth said.  The man claiming to be Ted gave him a look.

          “Listen, a team is searching your apartment.  If there’s anything you’d like to share before I send you down to booking, now would be the time,” the G-man continued.  Brennan and Sweets looked intently through the special glass window.

          “Do you think he’s lying?”  The forensic anthropologist asked.

          “As far as being Greg Butter’s brother; yes.  We already know the file states otherwise.  My curiosity is piqued as to why continue the charade when Booth has proven, he isn’t who he said he is,” Sweets said.

          “Maybe he’s hiding something else.  Giving an accomplice more time perhaps?”  Brennan wondered.

          “It’s possible.  The more he sticks to his story, the more we try to crack him instead of following other evidence but his behavior suggests that getting caught wasn’t part of the plan,” Sweets told her.

          “They never plan to get caught,” the world-renowned author pointed out.

          “That’s true but when committing fraud most criminals have a getaway plan or some way to go into hiding before they get caught.  It seems Ted didn’t think that far ahead,” the young doctor explained.

          “Which suggests he figured that no one would notice what he was doing,” Brennan nodded.

          “Exactly.  Which means he either had got terrible luck and we happened upon his crime or he is our killer,” Sweets nodded back.  At this point, the door to the room opened and Cullen walked in.

          “Here is our file on the so-called ‘Ted Butter’,” the Deputy Director said.

          “So he is lying,” Brennan knew it.  Cullen gave a nod before entering the interrogation room.

          “Why exactly is the FBI interested in fraud charges anyway?”  ‘Ted’ wondered just as Cullen walked in.

          “Because it turns out you’re not Ted Butter.  In fact, your name is Todd Bartz.  You falsified insurance records, your social security number, and your birthday.  Why would you be looking to rip off Mr. Butter?”  The Deputy Director wanted to know.

          “We already know you don’t have much of an imagination.  Anything else you’d like to share?”  Booth asked.

          “You want to know my story?”  Todd gave the two a look before continuing.

          “Then I suggest you ask my lawyer,” the conversation now dead in the water, Booth and Cullen left the room.

          “What else is in his file?”  The field agent wondered.

          “Todd originally lived in Virginia.  He went to the same high school as Greg Butter and they both served in Vietnam,” Cullen gave some of the highlights.

          “In the same unit?”  Brennan asked.

          “That I don’t know and it wasn’t exactly a small war,” the Deputy Director told them as he handed over the file to Booth.

          “It was the same unit, which makes sense since they were both drafted from Winchester, Virginia,” he said.

          “So there is the connection and it could explain the brother act.  Todd feels as though he must take care of his buddy from the service since there is no one else to do it,” Sweets spoke up.

          “That makes sense but then why wouldn’t just come out and say it?”  Brennan asked.

          “It doesn’t work that way, Bones,” Booth knew exactly what Todd was trying to do.  In the service, you grew tight with your buddy.  Everyone depended on their buddy to watch their backs and just because you weren’t in the service anymore didn’t mean you stopped looking out for your friend. 

          “Let me talk to him,” Booth said and he quickly reentered the room.

          “Corporal Bartz what is your relationship with Corporal Butter?”  Bartz gave him a look.

          “You answer a superior officer when they ask you a question soldier,” Booth’s tone was stern.

          “I am his friend, sir,” Todd replied.

          “Then explain to me why you forged documents?”  The former Army Ranger wanted to know.

          “I reserved my right to council sir,” Bartz told him.  Booth nodded.  He wouldn’t budge, especially since he was looking at jail time.

          “You served sir?”  Todd asked.

          “Army Rangers,” the FBI agent smiled slightly.

          “Then you understand why I did what I did.  Someone had to look out for Greg,” the former Army corporal said.

          “I understand that.  What do you know about his son?”  Booth asked, changing the subject.

          “They never found him.  Greg started losing everything after Sam went missing.  His wife, Connie, was a sweet lady but once the cancer got to her, she gave up,” Todd answered.

          “We found Sam at Antietam on Thursday.  He’d been shot in the chest and buried back in eighty-one,” the G-man told him.  Bartz heaved a sigh.

          “I knew you wouldn’t find him alive after all this time.  I guess it was wishful thinking,” he said.

          “Well we’re trying to solve his murder.  Can you think of anything that might help us?  It could help with your fraud charges,” Booth tried to get some information from him.

          “Not sure how I could help.  I lived in Hagerstown to stay with my parents and grandparents after the war.  Greg moved his family up to Sharpsburg shortly thereafter.  Greg didn’t want to live in Winchester anymore.  Too many people giving him flack about serving his country.  Sharpsburg wasn’t far from Hagerstown, so we stayed in touch but I wasn’t in touch enough to know of any problems they were having.  Although Greg did say something to me the other day which got me thinking about Sam.  He said that the sheriff wasn’t going to like it when he found out.  Found out about what, I’m not sure.  Heck, I don’t even know if that has anything to do with what happened but I went home and started going through some of Greg’s stuff, he’d given me for safe keeping.  Anyway, I found this letter along with some dirt in an envelope, saying that if Greg ever thought of trespassing again, he wouldn’t think twice of shooting him.  Now I thought the dirt was odd but I remembered that Sam would sometimes go looking for Civil War artifacts for his dad as presents.  Maybe whoever wrote the note thought that Sam was trespassing and caught him digging in their yard,” Todd told the whole story.

          “All right, we’ll check on it and if it pans out I’ll see what I can do for you,” Booth gave a smile and left the interrogation room.

          “So what next?”  Brennan asked.

          “We’re heading back out to Sharpsburg.  Someone out there knows what really happened,” her partner replied. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Sheriff Townshend’s Office, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Monday at 9:00 am**

          “Good Morning Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan,” the Sheriff smiled as he welcomed them into his office.

          “Morning Sheriff.  We have some more questions for you,” Booth said.

          “I hope I can help.  What do you need?” Townshend asked.

          “We were given this letter by a friend of Greg Butter’s.  Any ideas as to who it’s from?”  Booth eyed the local lawman as he handed over the note.

          “Stay off my property or I’ll kill you,” Townshend read aloud and raised an eyebrow at the dirt.

          “Were there any complaints of trespassing or vandalism around the time Sam disappeared?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “I wasn’t Sheriff back then.  I suppose it’d be in the computer.  Although I have to admit, I’m not too handy with the dumb thing,” Townshend smiled and picked up his phone.  He dialed an extension and spoke to one of his deputies. 

          “John will you come in here please?”  After getting a satisfactory answer, the Sheriff hung up and in a minute his deputy walked in.

          “Yes Sheriff?”  John asked.

          “Can you pull up some records on my computer?  We’re looking for ones back in nineteen eighty-one,” Townshend hoped his employee could help.

          “All records before nineteen ninety aren’t in the computer.  They’re in storage,” John answered simply.

          “Then would you be so kind as to escort Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan over there.  This might give them a lead in finding Sam Butter’s killer,” the Sheriff smiled.

          “Will do.  Y’all follow me,” the deputy nodded and the partners stood up.

          “Thanks Sheriff,” Booth said.

          “Call me Bob,” he told him as they shook hands.  Then the partners left the office and followed Deputy John Houser out to his squad car.

          “So how far is it to the storage place?”  Booth asked.

          “A mile or so.  You want to follow in your SUV?”  Houser wondered.

          “We’re just over here,” Booth nodded.  Soon all three were in their vehicles heading down the road.

          “Isn’t it odd that a small town like this wouldn’t have records pertaining to cases before nineteen ninety in their computer?”  Brennan asked.

          “Considering the town has such a low crime rate, yes but that could be due to the fact that most crimes here don’t involve murder.  The statute of limitations runs out on most of those crimes within a five year span,” her partner told her.  He pulled the car up next to the Deputy’s car and they got out.

          “Why are we at the library?”  Brennan wanted to know.

          “The library and the police department share a climate controlled storage area beneath the building,” Houser explained as he started heading into the building.  They followed and the three soon met the head librarian.

          “Morning Margot.  I have to access the records storage.  Mind if we cut behind the desk here?”  John smiled at her.

          “Not at all.  The keys should be on the hook,” Margot smiled back at him.  Booth and Brennan then followed the Deputy behind a wall partition to a door behind the librarian’s desk.  A key hung on a hook on the wall just as she said and John swiftly opened the door.  The deputy flicked the light switch, the three started down the stairs. 

          “Be careful these are a little steep,” Houser warned.  Brennan’s heels clicked on the metal stairs.  She’d been down steep stairs before without any trouble.  Booth made sure that if she did fall, he was in front of her.  The last thing they needed was for her to break her ankle.  Luckily the trip down was fine and the headed for the section where the nineteen eighty-one files were kept.

          “Now what crimes were you looking for?”  The Deputy asked.

          “Trespassing or vandalism,” Booth said.

          “The statute ran out a long time ago on those but any of the solved cases will still be here; matter of permanent record and all.  Lucky for you Sheriff Mark Boyd, may he rest in peace, hung onto almost everything,” John smiled slightly as he began browsing the box exteriors for the crimes the partners wanted.

          “What happened to Sheriff Boyd?”  Brennan wanted to know.  The reference to resting in peace had her curiosity piqued. 

            “He was killed ma’am, shortly after Sam Butter went missing.  Best Sheriff we’ve ever had,” Houser sighed.

          “Sorry to hear that Deputy.  Did you know him well?”  Booth wondered.

          “I had just started on the force.  He hired me personally.  Said my academy record spoke for itself and he didn’t even need an interview.  He kept an eye on me and then one day there was a robbery down at the Quick Mart.  Sheriff Boyd was called in when the robber, James Donaldson, took the people in the store hostage.  See the Sheriff was our best negotiator.  He got the hostages released except for the clerk, Jessica Mahle.  Our robber knew he was in big trouble and he was using Jessi as his ticket out.  Sheriff Boyd said he wanted to talk to James in person, promised they’d work out a deal.  Donaldson came out of the store with his gun pointed at Jessi and said he’d let her go if the Sheriff would have everybody back down.  So Mark told us to get into our squad cars.  We did and that’s when he aimed his gun at the Sheriff.  James fired his weapon and missed Sheriff Boyd.  At that point, Mark drew his weapon and fired two shots.  One hit Donaldson in the leg, the other in the arm.  James went down and Jessi started to run away.  I got out of my car to pull her to safety and Donaldson shot her in the back.  That’s when the Sheriff put a bullet into his chest.  A few days later, the Sheriff was found dead in his house, a bullet lodged in his skull,” Houser sighed.

          “Did they ever figure out who did it?”  Booth asked.

          “Didn’t have all the fancy stuff we do now.  We had a few leads and then the information dried up.  To this day, we’ve never fingered anyone.  But Jessi visits his grave every Sunday.  Despite getting shot, she always thought the Sheriff saved her,” John explained as he pulled three boxes off the shelf.  Booth took one and the one still on the shelf and they went to a nearby table.

          “So you and Jessi keep in touch?”  The FBI agent wondered.

          “I’d say.  She’s my wife,” A big smile crossed the deputy’s face. 

          “Now then these are all the petty crimes in nineteen eighty-one,” he continued.

          “Well we can eliminate the crimes after Sam Butter’s death since we know Sam didn’t commit any crimes after he was murdered,” Booth said as he looked through a box.

          “Sounds reasonable.  Unfortunately there still seems to be at least twenty cases left over in this box,” Brennan sighed.

          “Well this box isn’t going to help.  These cases are all dated between August and October,” Houser put the lid back on the box and slid the entire thing under the table.

          “So it’s down to half of Bones’ box and this full box.  The other one has cases between October and December,” Booth said as he slid the one box next to the other under the table.

          “Looks like we’ll be here awhile.  I’ll go upstairs and call the Sheriff.  No reception down here in this concrete storage,” John said and then he quickly headed back upstairs.

          “So Bones where do you want to start?”  Her partner asked.

 *****************

           A couple hours later, the group had narrowed their choices down to just three people who had filed multiple trespassing claims.  Not all of the claims had Sam Butter’s name on them but a few did.

            “So which one do you like the best?”  Brennan asked.

          “Lucky for me, Sheriff Boyd kept good notes,” John pulled a small notebook out of his pocket before continuing.

“According to the notes, Mrs. Haggerty filed against Sam because he cut across her backyard.  He had gone after the neighbor kid’s ball.  Haggerty refused to drop the charge because she claimed he did it just to ruin her petunias and that he’d done it more than once.  Sheriff Boyd let it slide and told Sam when he was playing with the kid to make sure the ball didn’t go over the fence again,” Houser told them.

          “Yeah I read the report, I don’t think Mrs. Haggerty killed Sam.  Besides she’d have to be ninety-five years old by now,” Booth shook his head.

          “Ninety-six actually.  She still gripes about her petunias too every time she sees me.  Seems she never got over it,” John shrugged.

          “Ok so that leaves Mrs. Gavrone and a Mr. Fick,” Brennan said.

          “Mrs. Gavrone passed away about ten years ago.  Sam was helping deliver her groceries and later she caught him out in the yard.  Sam said he lost his wallet and was wondering if it was laying in her front yard.  But of course he was out there after dark so she called us because she couldn’t see his face.  Sure enough we found Sam’s wallet under the stairs on the front porch,” the deputy chuckled.

          “So why is there a file on it?”  Booth wondered.

          “We keep everything on the ones who complain a lot.  A few times the Sheriff has had to give them a talking to about wasting police resources,” Houser explained.

          “Makes sense.  So I guess that leaves Mr. Fick,” the G-man said.  John flipped through the notebook and found who he was looking for.

          “It seems as though Mr. Fick accused Sam of digging in his field.  Claims that he kept finding holes out in the corn field that were too big to be from gophers,” he told the partners.

          “How’d he figure out it was Sam?”  Brennan asked.

          “I have no idea.  The notes don’t say anything.  That’s weird.  Sheriff Boyd always kept impeccable notes.  The reason we have all this info is because he kept this small notebook on all the people he would continually talk to.  There must have been something going on at Fick’s place that he left out.  I still have the rest of his notes back at the station.  I can go through them and see what I can find.  Were you planning on sticking around?”  Houser inquired.  Booth looked at his watch.  It was only two o’clock.

          “We could help you and it’ll go faster,” the FBI agent offered.

          “Well the Sheriffs old notes are kind of hard to read but we could give it a shot.  Is there anything else we need from down here?”  John asked.

          “Actually, I’d like to see Sheriff Boyd’s case file.  I maybe able to help solve the crime,” Brennan said.

          “I’ll get it,” Houser took some of the boxes that they had leafed through and Booth took the others.  They were back in two minutes and then the three headed back to the police station.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sharpsburg Police Station, Monday at 3:30 pm**

          The three had taken an unoccupied interrogation room to spread out all the paperwork they were sifting through for the past hour.  Booth and Houser were deciphering Sheriff Boyd’s notes and Brennan was looking at the murder case of the same man. 

          “Here’s something,” Houser spoke up and both partners turned their attention to him before he continued.

          “Leon Fick called again today complaining about holes in his corn field.  Says he caught Sam Butter and his father looking for Civil War relics.  There has to be something else going on though because Sam and Greg know better and would never trespass.  I’ll make a trip to their house later today,”

          “It seems even Sheriff Boyd thought something bigger was going on,” Booth said.

          “Here he explains some more a little further down the page,” the Deputy informed them.

          “It seems the Butters think that Fick killed their dog, Sandy, and they wanted to prove it.  Sandy went missing a few days ago and it seems no one has seen her.  I did have a report of gunfire near there the other day where nothing panned out.  I thought it was a hunter out in the crops looking for quail.  The Ficks and Butters have been neighbors a long time, never fought before until now,” John filled in.

          “So they were out there looking for Sandy’s body to prove Leon Fick killed their dog.  How many weapons does Mr. Fick own?”  Booth wondered.

          “A couple of hunting rifles and a nine mil.  Why?”  Houser asked.

          “A nine millimeter round was used to kill Sam Butter and it always matches the coroner’s description of the bullet hole and fragments found in Sheriff Boyd’s head,” Brennan said.

          “And Sheriff Boyd was killed shortly after Sam Butter went missing,” Booth was starting to put the pieces together.

          “You think Leon killed Sam and then killed the Sheriff?  What reason could he have to kill Mark Boyd?”  Houser was unsure of the connection.

          “Sheriff could have been onto him maybe.  If he could prove that Fick purposely murdered Sandy and that Sam’s disappearance was tied to it then when he started asking questions Fick lost it.  He would have been the only one who knew Sam was dead but there’s no way he could have known that until after the Sheriff was dead and no one found Sam’s body,” Booth explained.

          “Point.  I’ll look into Fick’s background before we go over there to talk to him,” the Deputy nodded and quickly headed out of the room.

          “So what to you think Bones?”  Her partner wondered.

          “I think it’s a remarkable coincidence that Sam disappears and the Sheriff gets a bullet to the back of the head within a two week time frame.  I also would like to know more about the Donaldsons.  Seems to me they had the most motive for wanting Sheriff Boyd dead,” the forensic anthropologist told him.

          “He did kill their son.  We’ll have to see if either of them is around,” Booth nodded.

          “Why did Fick report the Butters the first time and then send that note to Sam?”  Brennan wondered.

          “Could be he did kill the dog.  Fick hoped a warning from the Sheriff would be the end of it but it wasn’t.  Sam refused to let it go.  He comes back to the supposed scene of the crime and Fick catches him.  Although that would lead to Sam being shot on Fick’s property not out at Antietam,” he said.

          “True but Sam’s belongings were found at his apartment including his car.  Hard to get to Fick’s place without it,” Brennan pointed out.

          “So maybe Fick paid him a visit.  He takes him out to his car at gunpoint and drives to Antietam.  Still he would have had to use a silencer or something.  Same if he shot the Sheriff,” the gears in Booth’s head began to turn.  It was then that Houser came back into the room.  
          “I have everything we know on Leon Fick in this file,” he said as he plopped the small file onto the table.  They were about to start reading it when Brennan’s phone rang.  She excused herself and answered it.

          “Brennan,”

          “Hi sweetie, I have some information for you,” it was Angela.

          “Hi Angela.  What exactly do you have?”  Her friend asked.

          “Well Simon discovered that Sam was in fact shot from the front.  Something about the vertebrae not showing enough damage and that there would be no way to pull off breaking the sternum the way it was.  Also Hodgins has still come up empty on fingerprints on the buckle,” the forensic artist explained.

          “All right well we hope to have some fingerprints to get you soon.  As for the body that was delivered, Cam has finished the autopsy right?”  Brennan wanted to know.

          “I was just getting to that.  Cam has confirmed that the man was killed by blunt force trauma.  The pattern in the skull indicates the butt of a gun was used repeatedly.  I’m still working to match the fragments to the thirty-eight that is still missing.  As for the dirt that Cam found under the victim’s fingernails, Hodgins discovered that the soil originated from North Dakota.  Cam called Cullen up and Charlie is heading to Fargo.  The picture I drew of the victim went out to both North Dakota and Minnesota news stations.  Also Sam confirmed the shinbone was from Anna Smits,” Angela filled in.

          “Thanks Ange.  Do you think you could take bullet fragments and piece them together on the Angelator?”  The forensic anthropologist wondered.

          “I could try but it will be difficult depending on the shape of the fragments,” her friend replied.

          “I’m going to send you some fragments and I want Hodgins and Simon out at Antietam looking for a bullet,” Brennan said.

          “You’ll have to narrow it down hun, I’m sure there are plenty of bullets out there,” Angela told her.

          “Not nine millimeter ones.  Thanks again,” Brennan ended the conversation and turned to Booth.

          “So lots of good information I hope,” he smiled.  She quickly recapped and Booth shook his head.

          “Jay Moore is certainly keeping things interesting.  He killed a man and then moved over state lines to bury him.  He wants to make sure the FBI is involved,”

          “Who is that?”  Houser asked.

          “Another case we’re working on with the help of one of my fellow field agents.  Now Leon Fick?”  Booth shifted the focus back to the current investigation.

          “Other than complaining about crop circles and the Butter’s incident, he record is clean,” the deputy explained.

          “How tall is he?”  It was an odd question from Brennan but he answered it nonetheless.

          “At his prime he was six foot two,”

          “Tall enough to make the shot.  Does he have a silencer?”  Booth wondered.

          “You have to report that stuff but even if he didn’t he could always use a plastic bottle or potato.  We have those in plentiful supply,” Houser said.  Something struck Brennan and she went back to Sheriff Boyd’s file.

          “The coroner discovered starch in the Sheriff’s wound but nothing was found at the scene to explain it,” she told them.

          “I think we just did.  Our shooter used a potato to silence his weapon and picked up the pieces before leaving the scene.  He couldn’t get the pieces that were lodged in Sheriff Boyd’s skull,” Booth said.

          “We didn’t find starch with Sam Butter’s body but it would have decomposed with the body by then,” his partner explained.  
          “It’d still be in the gun if it wasn’t cleaned properly,” Houser caught onto their line of thinking.

          “Its slim but we might be able to pull it off.  I would like the Jeffersonian to examine the fragments discovered in Sheriff Boyd’s body,” Brennan said.

          “I’ll have to ok it with Sheriff Townshend first.  Meantime I say we find out what Leon has been doing with his nine millimeter lately,” the deputy nodded.


	10. Chapter 10

**Leon Fick’s House, Monday at 6:30 pm**  

          Deputy Houser knocked on the door of the old farmhouse.  An aging pickup truck sat in the driveway and John had informed the partners that that was Fick’s only non-farming vehicle.  There was no response to the knocks and this prompted Houser to announce himself.

          “Leon, its John Houser.  Open up I know you’re in there,” there was no reply.

          “Leon, I have the FBI here.  They want to ask you some questions,” still no reply was heard.

          “That’s it.  We’re coming in,” the final announcement was given and then the three entered the home.  Houser fanned into the living room while Booth and Brennan took the L-shaped kitchen.  

          “Bones stay behind me.  I don’t like that smell,” her partner cautioned.  She began to object until they rounded around the refrigerator and they saw the kitchen table.

          “Houser!”  Booth shouted before covering up his nose.  Within a few seconds the deputy was there.

          “Dear God,” John was horrified as he covered his nose with his free hand.

          “Is that Leon Fick?”  Brennan asked of the rotting corpse.  It was obvious that the body had been there since the day before.  Some windows in the room were open and between the smell of cow manure and the fresh air blowing in, the decomposition wasn’t as noticeable.

          “It was,” Houser shook his head then walked from the room and reached for his radio.

          “This is Nine-Three David; we need backup at Leon Fick’s house.  Have Doc Wiberg and Sally come too,”

          “Copy that Nine-Three David, they’re on their way,” the dispatcher reported.  Within seconds the sound of sirens could be heard. 

          “Who is Sally?”  Booth wondered still trying to keep the smell from invading his nose.

          “Our forensics gal.  She’s her own department,” Houser explained as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

          “Good because I left my kit back in the SUV at the station.  That and I don’t do flesh,” Brennan said.  The Deputy gave her a look, still trying to figure out how she could stand that close to the body.

          “Is there anyone else who lives with Leon?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “No.  His wife passed away about five years ago.  They didn’t have any kids,” Houser told them.

          “So whoever killed him knew no one would be checking up on him,” the G-man nodded.

          “Yeah, he hasn’t run this place like a farm since about ten years ago.  He and the missus wanted to travel,” John filled in as the sirens finally reached their climax and police piled out of their squad cars.

          “John, what have we got?”  An older gentleman asked.  He too seemingly ignored the smell.

          “Leon Fick Doc,” Houser answered before heading off to meet his fellow officers along with Booth.

          “He’s been dead a day or two and cause of death would appear to be a gunshot to the face,” Brennan filled in.

          “And you are?”  Doc Wiberg asked.

          “Dr. Temperance Brennan,” she stuck out her hand and Wiberg gave it a firm shake.

          “Such an esteemed lady in this little town?  Over Leon?”  He wondered.

          “My team and I identified Sam Butter’s remains on Thursday,” she explained as the town’s coroner pulled out his gloves and began examining the body.

          “That poor boy,” the doctor shook his head.

          “So what is your assessment?”  Brennan pointed to Leon.

          “Definitely a shot to the face.  The killer used what appears to be buckshot.  A shotgun is very messy and very loud,” Wiberg puzzled.  Someone should have heard the shot especially with the windows open.

          “Doctor, I wish to send the body back to the Jeffersonian,” the forensic anthropologist said.

          “You’ll get no argument from me.  I prefer my patients to be alive and furry,” Wiberg smiled.

          “You’re a veterinarian?”  Brennan asked.

          “Usually.  I get called in on the very few and far between murders around here.  Doctor Bell hasn’t done surgery in years; his hands aren’t steady enough anymore.  A coroner has to be precise.  Can’t ruin the evidence.  I still perform surgery on people’s animals when necessary so I was the logical choice,” Wiberg explained as some officers brought a gurney over.

          “Boys, send Leon to the Jeffersonian as fast as possible,” he said.

          “Will do Doc,” one of the officers nodded.

          “I’ll have Doctor Bell dig up Leon’s medical files so your team can make a positive ID,” the veterinarian/coroner told Brennan.

          “Excellent, thank you Doctor Wiberg,” she smiled.

          “You’re quite welcome.  I wish you luck in your investigation,” the older man said before heading back out of the kitchen.  Brennan then moved off to find Booth. 

          “I’m having the body sent to the Jeffersonian.  What’s going on?”  She asked.

          “The officers are sweeping the house for the guns Leon owned.  Sally is fingerprinting the door.  No sign of forced entry but they would have touched the doorknob.  Also she’s working on the window frames,” he explained.  Brennan could tell the gears in her partner’s head were turning. 

          “Something is bothering you,” she said.

          “It doesn’t make sense.  Who shoots someone over a dead dog?  If in fact that is what actually happened.  Then to cover up the murder of Sam Butter, he kills the Sheriff?  Now our only suspect is dead and someone else is responsible.  All we’ve managed to do is ask more questions and we aren’t even sure that Sheriff Boyd’s case is related to Sam Butter’s case,” Booth heaved a sigh. Brennan put her hand on his shoulder.  He gave her a slight smile. 

          “Well the boys have swept the house and only found the hunting rifles.  The box that contained the nine mil is empty,” Houser came up to them.

          “So the gun is missing which could clear or confirm Leon Fick’s role in this mess,” Booth was getting tired and the case was going nowhere fast.  Looking at his watch he realized it was almost eight o’clock.  They had an hour and a half ride ahead of them too.

          “You guys going to head back to Washington?  You’ve got the body on the way and I can have Sally send the fingerprints to you,” the deputy seemed to notice how tired Booth was.

          “I just need some coffee.  What I also need is to talk to Sheriff Townshend,” the G-man said.

          “I’ll go find him,” John nodded and headed off to find his boss.  Meanwhile, Booth pulled out his phone and dialed FBI Headquarters.

          “Steve, this is Booth.  I need you to get all the information you can get on a Sheriff Mark Boyd, a James Donaldson, and a Leon Fick.  Take everything you get to the Jeffersonian and hand it to Cam.  Bones and I will be there in the morning,” the superior field agent told his colleague.

          “You got it.  Just as an update, no word from North Dakota yet,” Steve filled him in.

          “Thanks,” the conversation ended and Booth found that Sheriff Townshend was standing in front of him.

          “Sheriff I’m declaring jurisdiction over the murder of Leon Fick and I need all the evidence sent to the Jeffersonian.  I will also be taking all your files on the robbery and subsequent shooting that James Donaldson was involved in and the case files on the murder of Sheriff Mark Boyd,” the FBI agent said.

          “How exactly do these crimes relate to Sam Butter?”  The Sheriff got defensive.

          “Because Leon Fick was our major suspect in the murder of Sam.  We also believe he is tied to the murder of Sheriff Boyd.  That being said, someone just killed Mr. Fick.  We’ll be taking everything with us when we leave tonight,” Booth informed him.  The local sheriff wasn’t happy about but he had no choice.

          “John, help them get what they need,” Townshend ordered.


	11. Chapter 11

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Tuesday at 8:30 am**

          “I’m a little confused, how does this all fit together?”  Angela asked as she scanned onto the platform.  The forensic artist made sure to avoid the autopsy room after Cam had told her how Leon Fick had died.

          “That’s why Hodgins and I worked up this write and wipe board,” Simon explained.

          “Sort of a forensic tree?”  Angela wondered.

          “Yes, in a way.  I can start from the beginning if you wish,” the young intern smiled.

          “Yes, please,” the forensic artist smiled.

          “Ok, first, Dr. Brennan discovers that our first victim didn’t die during the Battle of Antietam but in fact near the year nineteen eighty.  The murderer used a nine-millimeter handgun, yet to be retrieved.  With the body there was a Civil War belt buckle that contains the victim’s prints along with some unknown ones.  Second, Cam finds out the victim’s name and address, at which point Agent Booth pulls the file.  Third, our dynamic duo questions Sam Butter’s girlfriend and father.  Not much is learned but we do know that Sam left his house without anything personal on him, including his keys, or his wallet.  Fourth, the man posing as Greg Butter’s brother gives Agent Booth a letter and dirt found with Greg Butter’s things.  This leads them to Leon Fick, who had complained about the Butters digging up his property.  Later we find out the digging could be from a dispute about whether or not the Butters’ dog was killed by Fick,” Simon explained before Angela interrupted him.

          “But how does Sheriff Boyd’s murder tie in?”

          “He was killed shortly after Sam Butter went missing.  Agent Booth believes that whomever killed the Sheriff thought that he was onto them.  Another reason to look at Fick, if he in fact shot the dog and Sam,” the intern said.

          “And when they searched Fick’s house they found the nine millimeter he owned to be missing.  Also someone wouldn’t kill Fick unless they were afraid he’d blab to the police,” Angela thought about that for a moment.

          “Wait a second…” she trailed off.

          “Who would care if Fick blabbed?”  Simon wondered.

          “I have no idea,” Angela shook her head.

          “Where’s Booth?”  Hodgins appeared at the base of the platform and asked the two discussing the case.

          “In Bren’s office,” Angela told him.  Quickly the entomologist took off for the forensic anthropologist’s office.  His behavior made Simon and Angela follow.

          “You’re never going to believe what I just found,” Hodgins told the partners.

          “What?”  Booth asked, hoping it was a solid lead.

          “Leon Fick’s prints are on the belt buckle but that isn’t the best part.  I’ve also identified someone else’s prints,”

          “Whom do the prints belong to?”  Brennan wanted to know.

          “James Donaldson,” Hodgins laid it on them.

          “How is that possible?”  Booth shook his head.

          “I did some digging.  It turns out that the Donaldsons and the Ficks were related.  Leon’s sister Abby married Rick Donaldson,” the entomologist told them.

          “I haven’t gotten the files yet, how did you know that?”  Booth asked.

          “Steve dropped them off this morning around seven thirty.  Told me he was taking the day off because he’d been up all night,” Hodgins explained.

          “So maybe James Donaldson killed Sam Butter and then in retaliation Fick kills the Sheriff for killing his nephew,” Simon suggested.

          “But before the robbery, James didn’t have a record.  A kid like that goes from following the law to committing murder?”  Booth tried to arrange the facts in his head.

          “What if Donaldson only did the robbery?  And his Uncle shot Sam and the Sheriff?”  Angela wondered.  Something in what she said triggered the gears in Booth’s mind.

          “Of course.  Cop assisted suicide.  James Donaldson had a death wish,” the G-man said.

          “Whoa back up.  How does that work?”  Hodgins asked.

          “James took hostages to ensure that multiple police cars would show up.  Then he let all of them go except Jessica Mahle.  He used her as bait.  After shooting at the Sheriff and missing, Boyd shot him in the arm and the leg.  Then Jessica ran away from James, at that point it should have been over but instead Donaldson shot Mahle in the back and Sheriff Boyd shot the robber in the chest.  Shooting Jessica Mahle was completely unnecessary,” Booth explained.

          “He knew the Sheriff would shoot him again,” Simon nodded.

          “Exactly.  So when Fick finds out that his nephew is dead and the Sheriff is responsible, he takes care of business.  The Sheriff is already onto him about Sam’s disappearance so he kills two birds with one stone so to speak,” the FBI agent said.

          “Revenge and cover up.  It makes sense except for one thing,” Hodgins told the group.

          “Who would shoot Leon Fick?”  Angela filled in.

          “Maybe Rick Donaldson had a bigger role in this.  No way, his brother-in-law and his son kill someone without him finding out about it,” Booth knew someone else had to be involved.

          “Too bad Rick Donaldson has been dead for the last eight years.  Maybe you could have asked him,” Hodgins handed over the folder he held in his hands.

          “That leaves Abby Donaldson.  But why would she kill her brother?”  Angela questioned.  With another question given and no answers the team was getting frustrated. 

          “You need to come take a look at this,” Cam said as she entered Brennan’s office. 

          “Did you find something on Leon?”  Booth wanted to know.  Her reply was to head back toward autopsy.  Quickly everyone followed her but when they got to the door, Angela stopped.

          “I really don’t need to see that,” she said.  The rest of the group understood but they needed to see it.

          “I had a rush tox screen done and I found heavy doses of sleeping medicine in the victim’s system.  I also discovered he didn’t have a prescription for any sleeping meds,” Cam handed the tox screen results to Brennan.

          “So the reason Leon didn’t fight his attacker was because he was out like a light?”  Booth shook his head.

          “Yes.  With this much medication in his system, he would have been out in minutes.  But that isn’t all I found.  Inside the wound there are traces of a starch.  My first instinct says potato but I’m running an analysis to verify.  Also Leon’s stomach contained coffee, eggs, and bacon.  The shotgun was probably a sawed off twelve gauge, which only helps if you can find one,” the Head of Forensics explained.

          “Sheriff Boyd’s wound also had potato in it,” Brennan said.

          “So it stands to reason whomever shot Sheriff Boyd also shot Leon Fick,” Cam suggested.

          “Except for the fact that that makes no sense.  Fick didn’t shoot himself,” Hodgins pointed out.

          “Maybe we’re off base.  Where is the evidence for the robbery and shooting committed by James Donaldson?”  Booth asked.

          “In my office,” his partner offered.  Quickly the FBI agent strode from the room and went for the files.  He brought them back to autopsy and sifted through the box until he found what he was looking for.

          “Here’s the gun that Donaldson used,” he said as he pulled the box up.

          “They still have that?  Aren’t they supposed to destroy the weapon after a certain number of years?”  Hodgins asked.

          “Yes but this being a small town I doubt once the file was packed away anyone actually went back to get rid of it,” Booth told him as he opened the box.  Much to his dismay he found not what he was expecting.

          “This is a squirt gun,” he said.

          “So where is the real gun?”  Cam asked.


	12. Chapter 12

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Tuesday at 11:00 am**  

          While Booth was on the phone with Deputy Director Cullen, Hodgins and Simon gathered their gear.  Yesterday’s search for the missing bullet that killed Sam Butter hadn’t gone well.  Now that they discovered the gun that possibly killed the victim was missing, it was even more important to find the nine millimeter round.

          “As soon as you find something call me.  Angela is busying trying to reconstruct the bullet that killed Sheriff Boyd,” Cam told them.

          “Will do,” the entomologist nodded before the two headed out to the van. With Angela busy with the Angelator, the Head of Forensics headed back to Brennan’s office.

          “He’s still on the phone.  Cullen has news from North Dakota,” the forensic anthropologist told her.

          “Oh boy.  The rest of the team is working on the bullets.  I take it you and Booth will be heading back to Sharpsburg,” Cam said.

          “Yes.  Booth has already informed Sheriff Townshend about the evidence that’s missing and he has his men looking for it but I wouldn’t hold my air,” Brennan shrugged.

          “Breath and you’re probably right.  Someone has long ditched it and even if they haven’t the only man who could have told us is dead,” her boss shook her head.  At that moment, Booth shut his phone and let out a deep breath.

          “More bad news?”  Cam’s sarcasm was unmistakable.

          “As if it could get worse.  The dead man found in Minnesota has been identified as Evan Smythe.  Supposedly went on a hunting trip and never came back.  Charlie is out talking to the friend, a Tom Bailey, who was living with Smythe.  Still no one has seen anyone matching Jay Moore’s description,” the G-man explained.

          “So nothing that could help us with that case yet,” the Head of Forensics heaved a sigh.

          “As for the missing gun, Deputy Houser confirmed the serial number on the paperwork matches the serial number of Fick’s weapon.  That being said, the only crimes that can be linked to the weapon are the shooting of Jessica Mahle and the robbery of the convenience store,” Booth said.

          “So what do we do next?”  Brennan asked.

          “We’re making a trip to Hagerstown.  Abby Donaldson is still our only link to all of this.  Get your coat,” her partner told her.

**Abby Donaldson’s House in Hagerstown, Maryland, Tuesday at 1:00 pm**

                Booth and Brennan walked up onto the porch of the farmhouse.  Booth knocked on the door. 

          “So isn’t this a formality?”  His partner asked.

          “What do you mean?”  The FBI agent wondered.

          “Well everyone else who would want to kill Sheriff Boyd and Leon Fick is dead,” Brennan said.  Before he could open his mouth, the front door opened.

          “May I help you?”  An older woman asked.  It was obvious that she had been crying.

          “I’m Special Agent Seeley Booth and this is my partner Dr. Temperance Brennan from the Jeffersonian.  I know this is a difficult time but we need to ask you some questions,” Booth gave her a smile. 

          “Come on in.  No reason to stand outside on Leon’s account,” Abby gave a slight smile and let the partners in.  She walked into the living room and offered them seats on the older sofa.  The room was Spartan but comfortable.  The older woman took a seat in an older recliner.

          “Money’s been tight since Rick died.  Leon tried to send some money but I always sent it back.  We haven’t talked much since Jimmy…” Abby trailed off.

          “We know this is difficult but we need to fill in some blanks.  We believe that Leon killed a man named Sam Butter back in nineteen eighty-one.  The gun used to hold up the local convenience store was identified as your brother’s,” Booth said.

          “I know.  Sheriff Boyd came to the house and told us.  He said he wouldn’t charge Leon because Leon didn’t know that Jimmy took his gun.  Instead of looking relieved, my brother looked tense.  After the Sheriff left, I asked him how this could happen and he told me that everything was going to be ok but I could hear something in his voice.  Something just wasn’t right and then the Sheriff was killed a few days later…” once more she trailed off.  The painful truths hidden in her family’s past had been weighing heavy on her.

          “Did you tell Sheriff Boyd your suspicions?”  Booth asked.

          “I was going to.  I had an appointment to see him on the day they found his body.  Being an officer involved shooting things had to calm down for a few days before he could discuss anything,” Mrs. Donaldson said.

          “Did you suspect Leon?”  Brennan wanted to know.

          “I did but when they said it was a nine millimeter bullet, I knew it couldn’t be.  Leon only had one nine millimeter and it was in the police station,” Abby told them.

          “We recently discovered that your brother’s gun was removed from the evidence box and replaced with a squirt gun.  Was there anything unusual about your brother or even your husband’s behavior?”  The G-man wondered.

          “I didn’t know that.  As for Rick was too consumed with grief to do anything.  Leon was angry.  He blamed the Sheriff for Jimmy’s death but I told him, Jimmy shot that poor girl.  How was Sheriff Boyd to know he wasn’t next?”  Abby sighed.

          “Any ideas as to who would have shot your brother?  They used a shotgun,” The FBI agent asked.

          “We moved from Sharpsburg not long after Jimmy died.  We couldn’t stay there.  I’m afraid that I can’t be much help there,” she said.

          “Did he tell about anyone in his life?”  Booth was hoping he’d get some helpful answers.

          “We talked at his wife’s, Marie’s, funeral and then again a few months ago.  He said that he had company coming over and couldn’t talk long but that he wanted to tell me he was thinking of selling the house.  He wanted me to know because that’s the house we grew up in.  I think it was just getting too much for him at his age.  I heard a woman’s voice in the background though,” Abby explained.  The information was interesting to say the least.  Very few women could shoot a shotgun.  Never mind hold a potato to it.  It was then that Booth’s phone rang.  He excused himself and picked up the call.

          “Booth,”

          “Agent Booth this is Sally LeRoy, from Sharpsburg Forensics.  I have something you need to see.  How soon can you get here?”  The woman sounded nervous.

          “We’re in Hagerstown.  Where do you want to meet?”  He asked.

          “At my apartment.  What I have isn’t safe at the lab,” Sally told him.

          “What’s the address?”  Booth wanted to know.  She quickly gave him the address.

          “We’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”  He promised before hanging up.  Then he walked back out to the living room.

          “Thank you for your time Mrs. Donaldson.  We must be going,” he smiled and Brennan left her seat.

          “My brother might have been a bastard but you catch the person who did this to him,” Abby said.  Booth gave a nod and he and Brennan were heading back out to the SUV.


	13. Chapter 13

**Sally LeRoy’s Apartment, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Tuesday at 2:30 pm**

          Booth knocked on the door and Sally quickly admitted the partners into her apartment.  Behind them, she locked the door and then went for the file folder on her kitchen table.

          “I realize this is a bit unorthodox but I felt you needed to know before anyone else,” Sally pulled a piece of paper out of the folder and handed it to the FBI agent.  He quickly scanned the report and looked up at her, his eyebrows raised.

          “Are you sure?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “Double sure.  I took some prints off his coffee cup to double check,” Sally explained.

          “What’s going on?”  Brennan asked as she took a look at the report Booth handed her.

          “Sheriff Townshend’s fingerprints are on Leon Fick’s open window sills,” her partner said.

            “That’s not the only place I found them.  They were on the door knob and on a coffee mug on the kitchen table,” the forensic expert handed over more reports.

          “This ties him to being there at the time of the murder,” Brennan said.

          “Not entirely.  Any good defense attorney could say that at some other time, Townshend visited Leon and left the prints then.  It does fit our theory that Leon knew his killer.  Townshend stops by for a visit; Fick would open the door to him because he would not consider the Sheriff an intruder.  They share a cup of coffee and when the sleeping pills take affect, he uses the shotgun.  Afterwards, he opens the windows to let some fresh air in.  Still the potato thing is quite the trick,” Booth wasn’t entirely happy.

          “I did some checking and the Sheriff doesn’t have a prescription for sleeping pills.  There is an unidentified print however that I found on the frying pan, plates, and utensils,” Sally told them.

          “If we get one to match it to, we’ll let you know.  In the meantime, are these the only copies of what you have?  We need to make sure the chain of evidence isn’t broken if it does turn out that Townshend is involved,” the G-man wanted to know.

          “I have official copies locked in my desk,” she nodded.

          “Good.  Tell no one of what you’ve found.  In fact, come with us.  If Townshend suspects anything, he may try something.  I’d feel better if you weren’t left alone,” Booth was getting concerned.  That last thing he wanted was for this sweet girl to get murdered because she knew too much.  The three left the apartment and headed for the SUV.  Soon they were back on the thruway.

**Antietam National Battlefield, Just Outside Sharpsburg, Maryland, Tuesday at 2:30 pm**

          “Dude, we’ve been all over this battlefield.  There are no nine millimeter bullets out here,” Hodgins was getting frustrated. 

          “Dr. Brennan says that every bone tells a story and that every bone is important, no matter how insignificant it may seem, there is always a piece of evidence hidden somewhere,” Simon told him.

          “Now you’re starting to sound like Zach,” the entomologist shook his head as he continued to wave the metal detector over the ground.  It continued to pick up fragments of metal that he assumed to be shrapnel from canons.  Nothing shaped like a modern day bullet.  Even a damaged modern day would bullet would not appear to be as dense as the objects he’d been finding.  In fact, a public service announcement about the dangers of lead in old paint popped into his head as he tried to imagine living with the hard metal everywhere.  As a Civil War soldier, the bullets were made out of lead.  At times, they made their own bullets.  Granted, lead wouldn’t do much harm outside your body, minus the point of it being shot at, but inside was a whole other matter.  So lost in thought was Hodgins that he didn’t notice the tree roots sticking up out of ground.  The entomologist tripped and used his arms to brace himself. 

          “Ow!”  He called out.

          “Hodgins!  You ok?”  Simon asked as he rushed over to help his coworker.

          “I think so.  I just tripped over this stupid tree root,” the entomologist picked himself up.  He had landed on his metal detector and he could feel a bruise forming on his shoulder.  It was then that he noticed where he was.

          “Hey how far back would you say is this from where Sam Butter’s body was found?”  Hodgins asked. 

          “I’d say fifty feet, give or take,” Simon estimated.

          “Didn’t I check most of this area?”  Jack wondered.

          “I thought so but we never checked the tree,” the intern pointed out.

          “Then let’s do it,” the entomologist lifted his metal detector and began to scan the tree’s trunk. 

          “I got something!”  He shouted as the detector went nuts.

          “Is it a nine millimeter?”  Simon inquired.

          “What’s left of one,” Hodgins smirked.  He quickly grabbed his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the Jeffersonian.

          “Hi, Cam this is Hodgins.  So should I retrieve the bullet or bring in the tree?” 

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Tuesday at 3:30 pm**

          “What?”  The Head of Forensics shook her head.  Angela looked up at her boss.  Whatever she heard must have been another crazy suggestion from Jack.  After a pause, she said,

          “I’ll get a hold of the Federal Parks Commissioner and call you back.”  Cam hung up and turned to Angela.

          “So why are you calling the Federal Parks Commissioner?”  The forensic artist asked.

          “I have to talk to him about a tree,” she sighed and left the room to find the phone number she needed.  Angela shrugged and turned back to the Angelator.  The pieces of the puzzles were fitting together and she almost had the bullet back into its original form.  As a young girl the forensic artist had enjoyed piecing puzzles together to create masterpieces of art.  Now she used that favorite pastime tool to put bones, bullets, and faded handwritten notes back together.  A smile crossed her face as the bullet pieces formed the picture she wanted.  Using that picture, she quickly ran the striations through the criminal database.  Now all there was to do was to wait for a hit.

**Fargo, North Dakota, Tuesday at 4:00 pm**  

          Charlie sat in the Sheriff’s office trying to piece together what exactly was going on.  He had visited the friend who was living with the victim, Tom Bailey.  Something didn’t jive with what the man claimed but he had no proof to refute it either.  At this point, he figured he’d better call Booth.  The seasoned agent would offer his advice and hopefully he could act on them.  He picked up his cell phone when the Sheriff stopped him.

          “Something isn’t right,” he said.

          “What makes you say that?” Charlie asked.

          “I can’t find a record of a Tom Bailey,” Sheriff George Knut told him.  Here was a big decision to make and the rookie field agent made it.

          “Get your SWAT team.  We just found Jay Moore,”


	14. Chapter 14

**The Wilds of North Dakota, Tuesday at 4:30 pm**

          In the back of his mind Charlie knew he should have called the Deputy Director or Booth before charging toward Evan Smythe’s cabin with Fargo’s SWAT team.  It would have been the smart thing to do.  Now he lay on the ground, a bullet hole in his left leg.  The pain was unbearable but the SWAT member looking over him was doing a good job of keeping the blood flow to a minimum.  He could hear the sirens of an ambulance and knew help was on the way.

          “Hang in there son.  We’ll get the bastard, don’t you worry,” the SWAT officer smiled.

          “I didn’t think he’d have so many weapons,” Charlie admitted.

          “He may have us pinned down behind our vehicles but he’ll run out of ammo sooner or later.  That or we’ll use some tear gas,” once again the officer smiled and Charlie thought it was strange that the man could be smiling so much considering the situation.

          “How many SWAT calls do you guys get?”  The FBI agent wanted to know.

          “Not a lot but most of us are ex-military,” there was the confirmation he needed.

          “Now enough talking.  We’re going to have to carry you out of here.  The last thing we need is our unfriendly suspect to go shooting the ambulance,” the officer continued.  Charlie opened his mouth to say something and the man giving him a stern look silenced him.  Another SWAT member nearby helped lift Charlie up off the ground and they walked behind the vehicles which by now had no useable tires left.  Once they were clear of the vehicles, the two ran as fast as they could to get out of range of the shooter.  All the jostling made the pain increase and Charlie almost passed out.  The paramedics opened the back doors of the ambulance and they quickly loaded the patient inside.  Then the SWAT officers ran back toward the action while Charlie was left to wonder how he was going to explain all this to his boss.

**The Jeffersonian Medico-Legal Lab, Tuesday at 5:00 pm**

          “Wow, you work here?”  Sally looked to Dr. Brennan.

          “Yes,” the forensic anthropologist was confused by the woman’s statement.  Had Sally not been told that she worked there?  Her partner just shook his head.  He was sure Sally had never seen the inside of the Jeffersonian and he could relate his first experience similarly though he’d never tell Brennan that.

          “We’d better go talk to Cam,” Booth shifted the focus back to the case.  They walked up to the platform and noticed it was empty.

          “Better try Angela’s office,” he said.

          “Yes, it would seem they are all in there,” Brennan nodded as they headed over to the forensic artist’s office.  In doing so they passed autopsy.  Booth walked by and then stopped.  Did he see what he just thought he saw?  Turning around, Brennan and Sally followed him.

          “Booth what are you doing?”  His partner asked.

          “Watching Cam dissect a tree, I think,” he responded as Brennan saw what he saw on the autopsy table.

          “Do you guys do that a lot?”  The Sharpsburg Forensic Expert raised an eyebrow.  She got no response as the partners quickly entered the autopsy room.

          “Care to explain what this is?”  Booth wondered upon confronting Cam, Hodgins, and Simon.

          “The bullet that killed Sam Butter is in this piece of tree trunk.  Hodgins found it and I had to promise the Federal Parks Commissioner that we’d plant another one and promise to stay out of Antietam National Battlefield once the murder is solved.  We lucked out the bullet didn’t hit the tree that was five feet to the right of it or we wouldn’t even be having this conversation,” Cam didn’t look happy.

          “I take it that other tree was very special?”  Booth asked.

          “It is one hundred years old and was donated when one of the original trees from the Civil War era was struck by lightening.  The Parks Commissioner made it very clear that that tree would not be moving as the person who donated it was a close friend of President Teddy Roosevelt,” the Head of Forensics explained.

          “And the tree you have on your autopsy table?”  Brennan wanted to know.

          “Lucky for us it was only forty years old.  Another replacement tree but luckily not so famous,” Cam smiled.

          “Are we going to crack this baby open or what?”  Hodgins asked.  Everyone gave him a look.

          “What?”  He looked confused.

          “Simon would you hand me the saw please?”  The intern did as he was told and Cam began to slowly cut the piece of trunk until they were close enough to the bullet to use the tweezers.

          “I have to admit the guy who used the chainsaw knew what he was doing.  I didn’t have to go very far,” the coroner was pleased that she didn’t have sap all over her autopsy room.

          “The bullet is covered in hardened sap and pretty mangled but Ange may be able to get something off of it,” Hodgins took the bullet from his boss and gave it a once over, looking for trapped particulates.  With nothing there, he headed off to remove the substance.  It would certainly not make Angela’s job any easier.

          “I believe Booth didn’t formally introduce us,” Cam looked over at the guest the partners had brought in.

          “I’m Sally LeRoy.  The only CSI in Sharpsburg,” she introduced herself.

          “What brings you to the Jeffersonian?”  Cam smiled.

          “I found some evidence that may implicate the Sheriff in the murder of Leon Fick,” the CSI explained.  Before Cam could say anything, Booth’s phone rang and he excused himself.  Once outside autopsy, he listened intently to what Deputy Director Cullen had to say.  Brennan looked at him and she could see a look of worry cross his face.  Whatever the news was, it wasn’t good.  Her thoughts were interrupted as Angela entered autopsy.

          “I have a match for the bullet that was used to kill Sheriff Boyd,” the forensic artist said.

          “Good, what weapon does it belong to?”  Cam asked.

          “Leon Fick’s,” Angela handed over the report.

          “So his gun was taken from evidence and used to kill the Sheriff.  Who had access?”  Simon piped into the conversation.

          “The storage is kept in the basement of the library.  The keys for the locked storage door are on a hook on the wall,” Brennan shook her head.

          “So the librarian at the time would have access and any police officers would also.  Anyone else?”  Cam asked.

          “I know we have a small town and all but only people who work for the library and the police know where the key is and could gain access to the shared hallway.  It’s behind the librarian’s desk,” Sally said.

          “But patrons would have to know it exists.  Deputy Houser, Booth, and myself walked right behind the desk and over to the wall partition.  The Deputy even asked Margot if he could take us back there.  Anyone standing nearby would have heard us,” the forensic anthropologist sighed.

          “Point taken.  Still only Leon Fick would want his gun back and his wife was a librarian at the time of the Sheriff’s death,” Sally told them.

          “Marie Fick was a librarian?”  Brennan looked at the CSI.

          “Yeah.  She retired not long before she died,” Sally said.

          “So Leon knew about the key and the storage, he got his gun back and killed Sheriff Boyd,” Cam nodded before turning to Angela.

          “Go see if Hodgins has cleaned up the bullet we recovered from the tree.  We need to verify it was in fact Leon Fick’s weapon that killed Sam Butter,” the forensic artist nodded and headed out the door.

          “I think Booth and I need to go talk to Margot.  She may have some information about Marie Fick,” Brennan said.  It was then that Booth walked back into the room.  The look on his face told his feelings.

          “What’s happened?”  Brennan asked.

          “Charlie has been shot.  He is in the hospital up in Fargo,” he told them.

          “Is he going to be all right?”  Cam wanted to know.

          “He’s in surgery right now.  It seems he found Jay Moore.  Right now Fargo’s SWAT team is having a shooting match with him,” Booth explained.

          “What does Cullen want you to do?”  His partner inquired.

          “Stay with this case, which means heading back to Sharpsburg,” he told them.


	15. Chapter 15

**Sharpsburg Public Library, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Wednesday at 9:00 am**

          Booth and Bones walked into the library and Margot smiled at them.  She finished helping the customer she was with and then walked up to them.

          “Agent Booth, Dr. Brennan, what brings you back to my little library?”  Margot asked.

          “We have some questions to ask you.  Can we talk in private?”  Booth wondered.

          “Sure, right this way,” the librarian allowed them behind the desk and into her office. She offered them seats on the other side of her desk while she took the one behind her desk.

          “So how can I help?”  Margot smiled.

          “Marie Fick was a librarian.  How well did you know her?”  Booth got right to it. 

          “Very well.  It was so sad when she died and left Leon on his own.  I guess he’s with her now though,” the librarian said.

          “No, he’ll be buried in the plot next to her,” Brennan told her.  Margot gave her a look.

          “What kind of person was Marie?”  Her partner moved forward.

          “Warm, loving, she’d do anything to help people,” Margot said.

          “Would that include exchanging her husband’s nine millimeter with a squirt gun?”  The FBI agent wondered.

          “What?”  The woman seemed surprised but her body language said otherwise.

          “We took the evidence box that contained James Donaldson’s case and the weapon turned out to be a squirt gun.  And we know it wasn’t originally a squirt gun.  In fact the weapon proved to belong to Leon Fick,” Booth explained.

          “Oh dear,” Margot’s behavior now told the partners she knew more than she was telling.

          “We’ve already proved that Leon Fick’s weapon was used to kill Sheriff Boyd and since the Sheriff died after Leon’s weapon should have been in storage…” the implication given, both partners looked at the librarian for an answer.   When she didn’t give one, Booth decided to prod her.

          “If you did it, we’ll be forced to charge you as an accessory to murder.  You could be looking at twenty-five to life.”  At the sound of that, the librarian broke out into sobs.  This wasn’t the reaction the partners were expecting and Brennan turned to Booth.

          “Perhaps you’d better start from the beginning,” he said.

          “This whole thing has gone out of control,” Margot dried her eyes.

          “What has gone out of control?”  Brennan asked.

          “After Marie died, I used to go and check up on Leon.  He had no family left in the area and his sister wouldn’t talk to him.  I felt bad for the old man.  We were friends and I thought it was a good thing to do.  Every Tuesday and Thursday we’d have dinner together.  At holiday time, we’d give each other gifts or I’d bring leftovers to him.  Then when Sam Butter’s body turned up, things changed.  He kept making excuses as to why I couldn’t come over and ignoring my messages.  So one night I went over unannounced to check on him,” she paused.

          “What happened?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “Leon was drunk, very drunk.  He started to swear at me and say things that I’d rather not repeat,” Margot explained.

          “What else happened?”  The G-man continued to try to get the information from her.

          “He threatened me with one of his guns,” she said.

          “Which one?”  Brennan asked.

          “His nine-millimeter.  I left as soon as he threatened to shoot me,” the librarian told them.

          “We never recovered his nine millimeter from his house.  Did you talk to anyone else about this?”  Booth wasn’t happy where this was headed.

          “Sheriff Townshend,” Margot told them.  Something was still amiss but the FBI agent didn’t let on. 

          “We’re going to need your fingerprints to exclude them from Fick’s house.  Bones, you have your kit right?” he looked to his partner.

          “Yes,” she nodded and took his keys so she could get into the SUV.  While she was gone, Booth’s phone rang and he excused himself.

          “Booth,”

          “It’s Cam.  Angela was able to match the bullet from the tree to Fick’s weapon,”

          “Excellent.  Can you put Sally on the line?”  He had an idea.

          “Sure, one second,” the Head of Forensics nodded even though Booth couldn’t see her.  There was a pause on the line and then he could hear the familiar voice on the phone.

          “Hello Agent Booth.  What can I do for you?”  She wondered.

          “You know those unidentified prints you found at Fick’s house?  I may have a match for them.  Do you have those prints with you?”  He asked.

          “No, they’re locked in my desk; couldn’t make copies of those.  But it shouldn’t be a problem as the prints are on my computer.  Have Dr. Brennan scan them in and she could match them,” Sally explained.

          “You’re computer doesn’t have a password or anything?  And how do I get to your office?”  Booth wondered.

          “I’ll give you all the instructions,” the forensics expert told him the password and directions so that he and Brennan could enter from the back of police headquarters.  He thanked her for her time and hung up.  Turning back to the librarian’s office, he saw his partner taking the fingerprints they needed.  Now all they would have to do is go talk to the sheriff.

**The Hospital in Fargo, North Dakota, Wednesday at 11:30 am**  

          Charlie watched TV from his bed at the hospital while thoughts of explaining the mess he’d gotten himself into floated about in his head.  He was in so much trouble.  When Cullen got through with him, Booth would surely take a crack at him.  Looking to his leg, which was elevated off the bed, he sighed.  “Active Duty” where two words he wouldn’t be hearing anytime soon.  Jay Moore’s bullet had entered just below his knee and his leg was in a cast from his mid-thigh down to his toes.  Heaving a sigh, he tried to focus on the TV, hoping there was some news about the shoot-out at Evan Smythe’s cabin.  He didn’t have to wait long as CNN came on.

          “There is more information on the shoot-out that occurred yesterday in North Dakota.  The FBI has released a statement saying that they have captured the serial killer, Jay Moore with the help of Fargo’s SWAT team.  An FBI agent, Moore, and a SWAT team member were shot during the incident but none of the injuries have proved to be life threatening.  Moore will be extradited back to Virginia where he will be held for at least three counts of murder.  More charges will be filed upon identification of the remaining victims,” the news anchor relayed.  Charlie heaved another sigh, this one of relief that it was over and there were no serious injuries.  It was then that he heard the door to his room open.  Expecting a nurse, he turned to see who it was with a smile on his face until he saw who it really was.

          “Agent, we need to have a chat,”

          “Yes Sir,” Charlie swallowed hard as Deputy Director Cullen took the chair next to the bed and moved it so he could look Charlie in the eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sharpsburg Police Department, Sheriff Townshend’s Office, Wednesday at 12:00 pm**  

                “Sheriff I need a word,” Booth said as he found Townshend leaving his office.

          “It’s lunch, I’m heading to the diner,” the Sheriff told him.

          “It’ll have to wait.  There is some information on the Leon Fick case you need to hear,” the FBI agent put his foot down.  Townshend heaved a sigh and turned back into his office and Booth followed.  The Sheriff took the seat behind the desk and he offered one across from the desk to Booth.

          “So what do you know that couldn’t wait?”  He wondered.

          “Dr. Brennan talked to Margot.  Seems you left some information out about finding Leon waving his nine millimeter around at her,” the G-man said.

          “What are you talking about?  If I had seen Leon with his gun, I’d have arrest the bastard on the spot,” Townshend defended himself.

          “We found your fingerprints on the window sills at Fick’ house.  You sure you didn’t kill him and then take his gun away?”  Booth questioned him.

          “That weapon at the very least was stolen evidence.  Never mind the fact it could have been used to kill Sheriff Boyd and Sam Butter,” the Sheriff gave him a look.

          “The Jeffersonian confirmed that the same weapon killed both men and that it was owned by Leon Fick.  Are you telling me you didn’t want revenge for the death of your fallen comrade?”  The FBI agent asked.

          “Of course but legal justice.  We have a small town.  No way Leon ends up dead at the hand of a cop and nobody hears about it.  What was Margot telling you?”  Townshend wanted to know.

          “That you were probably the last person to see him alive,” Booth told him.

          “I definitely was not.  I went over to Leon’s house when this whole mess started to tell him we were looking into his nephew’s case but that was the last time I saw him before he ended up dead.  Margot and he were real close.  She was probably the last one to see him,” the local lawman explained.

          “How close were they?”  The G-man wanted to know.

          “Rumor had it they were sleeping together but I don’t think anyone took it seriously.  I mean she’s ten years younger than he was,” Townshend said.  There was a knock on the door and the Sheriff went to answer it.

          “Dr. Brennan, come in,” he welcomed the forensic anthropologist.

          “What did you find Bones?”  Booth asked.

          “Margot’s prints are the unidentified set in Leon Fick’s kitchen,” Brennan nodded.

          “So that settles it.  She was the last person to see him alive,” the Sheriff said.

          “But how’d she kill him?  I don’t know about you but killing someone with a shotgun and potato silencer is hard,” Booth told him.

          “Defensive use shotguns can have barrels as short as eighteen inches.  You’d have to have a special permit otherwise.  I don’t know about you but I highly doubt Margot is a shotgun toting librarian,” Townshend shook his head.

          “A sawed-off shotgun’s overall length could be less than twenty-six inches.  Much more usable for a lady,” the FBI agent pointed out.

          “Yes well Margot isn’t registered to have any gun so unless she borrowed one from somebody…” Brennan’s train of thought trailed off.  It was unlike her and Booth gave her a look.

          “What is it Bones?”

          “How long was the shotgun you used to shoot Sheriff Wilkinson after he took Lily Stegman hostage in the Anthony Pongetti case?”  She asked.

          “The barrel was twelve to fourteen inches but that’s standard for an FBI entry shotgun,” he replied.

          “Can citizens purchase them?”  Brennan inquired.

          “Yes but it requires passing federal, state, and local background checks, and a two hundred dollars for a tax stamp on top of the original cost.  All of that would have come up when we ran her record for gun permits,” Booth explained.

          “What about relatives?  She could have borrowed the gun,” Townshend wondered.  Booth thought the Sheriff made a point and was about to say something when his phone rang.  Excusing himself, the FBI agent picked up the phone.

          “Booth,”

          “It’s Steve.  I got that info on a Margot Bartnik you wanted,” the familiar voice on the other end of the phone replied.

          “Ok, find anything good?”  Booth wondered.

          “Just that she has a prescription and receives pension checks from the local PD,” Steve told him.

          “Whose pension checks?”  The senior agent wanted to know.

          “Her husband’s.  He was killed in the line of duty about twenty-five years ago,” Steve filled in.

          “What was his name?”  Booth asked.

          “Mark Boyd,” Steve answered.  The reply he got was Booth hanging up the phone.  Quickly he returned into the Sheriff’s office.

          “How come you failed to mention that Sheriff Boyd was married to Margot?”

          “He wasn’t.  They had filed for divorce about two years before he died.  It didn’t seem like she would kill him so we let her go after an initial questioning session,” Townshend said.

          “Did she keep any of her husband’s weapons after he died?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “Everything he had went to her after he died since he had no other family.  I’ll have Deputy Houser look up the records,” the Sheriff told the partners.

          “Good in the meantime we’d better go pick her up before she disappears,” Booth said.  The Sheriff nodded and quickly exited his office with the partners right behind him.

**The Police Station, Fargo, North Dakota, Wednesday at 2:45 pm**

          Deputy Director Cullen walked into the police headquarters in Fargo and was immediately met by the Police Chief.  They walked into the Sheriff’s office and closed the door.

          “Please have a seat,” Chief Bob Wite nodded.  Cullen nodded back and took a seat next to Sheriff George Knut.

          “How is your agent?”  Wite asked.

          “He’ll be fine.  And your SWAT team member?”  Cullen was trying to play nice with the locals.

          “Checked out of the hospital about an hour ago.  It was only a minor flesh wound.  So is this where you tell me we’ve done a good job but you’re taking Jay Moore with you?”  The Chief wondered.

          “Considering the severity of his crimes in Virginia, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t take me back with me,” the Deputy Director said.

          “And what about Evan Smythe?”  Wite wanted to know.

          “After he has been convicted and sentenced to death in Virginia, you can have him but I seem to remember North Dakota not having a death penalty statute,” Cullen told them.

          “So screw justice?”  Wite raised an eyebrow.

          “Justice will be done for Mr. Smythe as it will be done for the girls Moore murdered when I watch them stick the needle into his arm,” the Deputy Director wanted to make sure Jay Moore deserved what he got.

          “Chief we have no say in the matter.  He committed federal offenses and has to be punished accordingly,” the Sheriff pointed out.

          “All I want is justice for a citizen of my state,” Wite said.

          “Jay Moore will be charged with Evan Smythe’s death as a Federal offense.  He was a fugitive and then murdered your citizen and buried him across state lines.  Even if he is convicted here on federal murder, a judge will be forced to find a state that still executes; in this case, Virginia.  Now if you’ll excuse me I have a prisoner to take to Richmond,” with that Cullen left the office and headed for where they were keeping Jay Moore.


	17. Chapter 17

**Sharpsburg Public Library, Sharpsburg, Maryland, Wednesday at 1:45 pm**

           Booth, Brennan, and Sheriff Townshend entered the library to find Margot still at her post.  The FBI agent was surprised by this considering she had directed them to the Sheriff who would did not back up her story.

          “Can I help you?”  The librarian asked.

          “Yes you can.  Margot Bartnik you are under arrest for the murder of Leon Fick,” Booth announced.  He continued to read the woman her rights as he handcuffed her hands behind her back.  The few patrons in the library watched in horror as their librarian was led away. 

          “Library is closed people.  Gather your things and leave,” Sheriff Townshend told them.  Quickly the patrons did as they were told and Townshend used Margot’s keys to lock up.

          Down at the station, Margot sat in the interrogation room with a bewildered look on her face.  Somehow she couldn’t figure out how she managed to get herself into this mess.

          “So why did you make up that story about Leon waving his nine millimeter around at you?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “I didn’t.  That’s not something you lie about,” Margot defended herself. 

          “You pointed us to the Sheriff.  Why?”  The G-man continued his questioning.

          “Because I sent him to get Leon.  The man was drunk.  I was afraid he’d shoot someone,” the librarian stuck to her story.  Brennan puzzled from the other room as to why Margot was sticking to her story.  It was now that she wished Sweets was there.  He always seemed to know what the suspects were thinking despite the fact that psychology was only guesswork.  It was then that Deputy Houser entered the room and looked at her before knocking on the door.  Booth allowed him to enter and gave him a look.  He didn’t like to be interrupted but if Houser had information about the murder weapon it was worth it.

          “We have a team searching your house for your husband’s shotgun,” the Deputy said nonchalantly.

          “My husband’s shotgun?  I don’t own a shotgun,” Margot said.

          “We know you do.  When Sheriff Boyd died all his possessions went to you including his entry shotgun that he purchased with his gun allowance from the county,” Houser showed her the file he’d found.

          “I never took any of Mark’s guns.  He knew I hated them,” she told them.

          “Except when you found out that Leon killed your husband after he discovered that Mark knew about what had happened to Sam Butter,” Booth chimed in.

          “Leon killed my husband?”  Suddenly Margot looked like she was going to be sick.

          “Yes, he used the nine millimeter that his nephew used to shoot my wife,” Houser was starting to get angry.

          “Listen, I told you I didn’t know Marie had gotten the weapon for Leon.  It wasn’t until I saw it in Leon’s hands that I knew something wasn’t right,” she claimed.

          “So you’re saying the Sheriff went to Leon’s house and after he took the nine millimeter that Marie had stolen from evidence, you went back and cooked Leon some breakfast.  Oh and I almost forgot fed him some of your sleeping pills,” Booth raised an eyebrow.

          “What?  No.  I didn’t go back to Leon’s.  I figured Bob would arrest him,” the librarian said.

          “Except conveniently the Sheriff has no idea what you’re talking about.  Seems he’d be more than happy to arrest Leon after he knew the Jeffersonian matched the bullet fragments to Leon’s gun,” Houser pointed out.  To this Margot had no answer.  The story no longer made sense either and Booth was beginning to wonder if something else was going on.  It made sense that Margot would send he and Bones back to the Sheriff to give her time to escape however she didn’t.  What was worse was the fact that the librarian was sticking to her story.  It was then that Deputy Houser’s phone rang and he picked up the call.  There was a long pause on his end and after a minute or so the Deputy said,

          “Thank you sir.”   Everyone in the room waited anxiously to hear what he had to say.

          “That was the Sheriff.  They found your sleeping pills and the shotgun used to kill Leon Fick.  No doubt we’ll match the fingerprints on it to you,” a smug look crossed his face.  There was no way the librarian was getting out of this one.

          “I want a lawyer,” Margot told them.

          “Good call,” Houser said as he left his seat and went to retrieve a local lawyer.  Booth looked at her for a moment before leaving the room as well.

          “Case closed,” Brennan gave him a nod.

          “Except something isn’t right,” her partner said.

          “How so?  We caught her and she has the murder weapon and the pills.  Plus her fingerprints are at the crime scene,” the forensic anthropologist was confused.

          “Her story.  Why tell us that elaborate mess and then not leave when she had the opportunity?  Her ex-husband was a cop.  She would know how this would go down.  Then there is the fact she called Townshend by his first name.  Everyone else we’ve talked to always called him Sheriff,” Booth’s unrelenting uneasiness made Brennan pause.  There was validity in his thinking but no other explanation.

          “The only way this works is if the Sheriff is in on it,” the G-man told her.

          “I don’t follow,” Brennan said.

          “Suppose what Margot is telling us is the truth.  What if she told Sheriff Townshend about Leon waving his nine mil around?”  He tried to point her in the right direction.

          “Yes but then the Sheriff would also have to have access to her sleeping pills and the shotgun.  There is no evidence of that especially since the search of her home found the possible murder weapon.  She lied,” Brennan raised an eyebrow.  

          “Still I want the pill bottle and the gun tested for prints.  Anything not belonging to Margot may clear things up.  Especially if it points to a relationship between she and the Sheriff,” Booth said.

          “A relationship between them would give the Sheriff access to everything and it would explain his prints on the window sills.  Perhaps we should have Sweets talk to Margot.  I don’t put much stock in his psychology but he does seem to have an uncanny knack for reading people,” his partner suggested.

          “That might be a good idea.  He can confirm what the evidence says and maybe give us a little bit more.  Heck she might even flip on him,” he smiled and walked back into the room and Deputy Houser wasn’t far behind him.

          “I called up Mr. Torna.  He’ll be by to offer you representation,” John said.

          “Good.  Tell him to meet us at the Hoover building.  I’m taking her and the evidence back to D.C.,” Booth told them.

          “You got it,” the deputy nodded and headed back out the door.


	18. Chapter 18

**Interrogation at the Hoover Building, Wednesday at 5:00 pm**

          While the Squint Squad processed the evidence from Margot Bartnik’s home, Booth stood in the viewing room with Brennan while they waited for Sweets to arrive.  Mr. Torna was there to ensure his new client wasn’t going to ruin their chances at trial. 

          “He doesn’t seem to be giving her much legal advice does he?”  Booth wondered at the lack of conversation between the lawyer and Margot. 

          “Perhaps she told him the truth and he no longer wants to represent her,” Brennan shrugged.

          “True or maybe he wants to be able to still live in Sharpsburg.  It comes out that Margot blames the Sheriff and I imagine there will be trouble,” her partner nodded.

          “Sorry about keeping everyone waiting,” Sweets interrupted their conversation as he entered the viewing room.

          “No problem Sweets.  You ready?”  Booth wondered.

          “Yes, this should prove to be interesting,” the young psychologist smiled, in fact Brennan would characterize this as the excited Sweets.  The two left her to listen in while they interrogated the suspect.

          “What are the charges against my client?  Deputy Houser didn’t say much over the phone,” Torna asked.

          “She’s being charged with the death of Leon Fick but I don’t think she did it alone and Sharpsburg hardly seemed the place to discuss it,” Booth explained.  At this point the lawyer leaned over and whispered something to his client.  At which point, Margot spoke up.

          “I didn’t do anything,”

          “Then explain why we found your prescription in the victim’s system and your prints on the kitchen utensils?”  Booth wanted to know.

          “Don’t answer that,” Torna told her.

          “How about you answer this for me?  How well did you know the victim?”  Sweets piped into the conversation.

          “We were friends.  His wife and I worked together before she died,” Margot explained.

          “And when his wife stole the nine millimeter handgun, you didn’t know about it?”  Sweets wondered.

          “Most days our shifts overlapped.  She could have retrieved it when I wasn’t there,” the librarian explained.

          “You knew about Leon’s nephew though right?”  Sweets asked.

          “Yes,” Margot replied.

          “So after James was killed by Sheriff Boyd, you never once suspected Leon killed your ex-husband?”  The psychologist raised an eyebrow.  At this point, it looked like the librarian wanted to say something but her lawyer cut her off.

          “Don’t answer that,”

          “Let’s go back to the moment in question when you say you found Leon very drunk and waving his gun around.  You said you called the Sheriff.  Why not just dial nine-one-one?  Why call the Sheriff directly?”  Sweets wanted to know.  It was again at this point that Torna leaned over to his client.  They seemed to be arguing, as Margot kept shaking her head ‘no’.  However the lawyer finally convinced her to tell them.

          “I was seeing Bob up until a few days ago.  After Leon died, he pulled away from me,” the librarian explained.

          “So you killed Leon Fick?”  Booth asked.

          “No, as I said before I called Bob and told him what was happening.  He said he’d handle it.  Then Leon was dead,” she said.

          “Why didn’t you come forward with this information before?”  Sweets wondered.

          “I wasn’t going to confront him after I thought he killed Leon,” Margot told them.

          “So we are to believe that a decorated law enforcement officer killed Leon Fick and not you?”  Booth was skeptical.

          “Look my client has been more than cooperative.  Either retain the charges or I’m taking her back to Sharpsburg,” Torna threatened.  It was then that Booth’s cell phone chirped and he picked it up.  Brennan had texted him some very important news.

          “Margot is being charged with first degree murder.  We just found her prints all over the shotgun and potato starch jammed up in the barrel,” the FBI agent said.

          “Looks like we’re done here although I do have one more question before he takes you away,” Sweets had a look on his face that indicated that he was onto something.  Margot was pale and the psychologist went on,

          “How’s your shoulder?”  Margot just gave him a look and Booth hauled her up out of her seat.  The amount of force he used would have made anyone with a bruise on their shoulder from the kick back of the shotgun cringe.  However the librarian didn’t and Booth led her to the door.  Sweets moved into the viewing room to join Dr. Brennan.

          “So your analysis?”  She asked.

          “She’s not one hundred percent innocent but I don’t think she took the kill shot.  I think the Sheriff did that.  Her way of handling something like this would be completely different.  Leon was drunk, he could have blabbed what he did and she would have used her sleeping pills to kill him.  The pills would not mix with the alcohol in his system and he would have died.  Now the Sheriff on the other hand, he would have used force.  The only thing that concerns me is why he tried to make Sheriff Boyd’s death look like Leon’s.  We already suspected that Leon had killed the Sheriff,” Sweets explained.

          “Right but the amount of alcohol in Leon’s system was almost nonexistent when Cam ran a tox screen,” the forensic anthropologist said.

          “Exactly.  They waited until the morning.  Margot cooked him breakfast and fed him the sleeping pills.  Then when they kicked in, Sheriff Townshend arrived and killed Leon,” the psychologist nodded.

          “The only problem is that the fingerprints we found on the weapon and the pill bottle all point to Margot.  Sheriff Townshend’s prints aren’t on them,” Brennan sighed.

          “So all you have is the fingerprints tying him to being at the scene of the crime,” Sweets noted as more thoughts swirled in his head.

          “I’d like to listen in on a conversation between Booth and the Sheriff.  Perhaps we can learn some interesting information.  We already know that Townshend lied to you and Booth so if we can get some insight into his mind, it may help,” he continued.  Brennan nodded as the two left the room and headed for Booth’s office.

          Sweets explained the plan and the FBI agent sat at his desk and listened intently.  Brennan could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking of something.

          “Sounds great Sweets except for the fact that I can’t just drag Sheriff Townshend up here and charge him as an accomplice if I have no proof,” Booth explained.

          “Like you’ve never brought anyone into interrogation without explaining to them what you’re planning.  Tell Townshend there is some paperwork to fill out.  Then we catch him in a lie hopefully,” the young doctor suggested.

          “Ok, but if this doesn’t work, all Townshend has to do is keep his mouth shut.  With that weak story Margot has it won’t be hard to convict her,” Booth shrugged and picked up the phone.  He hated to see the Sheriff get away with murder especially since he knew that Margot didn’t fire the shotgun.  With no evidence tying Townshend to the scene other than some windowsill fingerprints, he hoped that Sweets could get something out of him.


	19. Chapter 19

**Interrogation at the Hoover Building, Thursday at 9:00 am**  

          “I appreciate you coming down Sheriff.  We just have some things to clear up,” Booth smiled.

          “Sure, however I can help,” Townshend gave a smile and looked at the paperwork in front of him.

          “Is this Margot’s official statement?”  He asked.

          “Yes.  See this is where I get confused.  She accuses you of killing Leon Fick.  Now you and I both know that you would know better than to do that,” Booth said.

          “Leon Fick was a bastard but killing him would be stupid,” Bob nodded.

          “Exactly.  Of course when she said that you two were seeing each other, I got to thinking.  What if she was trying to frame you?”  The FBI agent wondered.

          “I guess its possible but I don’t know why.  I mean the man who killed her ex was dead.  You’d think if she did it, she’d be more happy you know,” Townshend pointed out.  That last statement was odd, as if he wanted to clear Margot despite the fact that he was the one who was being “framed”.

          “True.  Now can you explain why your fingerprints were on Leon Fick’s window sills?”  Booth’s question blindsided the Sheriff and a surprised look crossed his face.

          “He didn’t know his prints were there.  I’ll bet he forgot to wipe the sills off,” Sweets said to Brennan as they watched from the other side of the glass.

          “My prints shouldn’t be on Leon’s window sills.  I never touched them,” Townshend replied.

          “Well they are.  Another thing that bothers me is the fact that Margot says she hates guns and yet she kept the shotgun that was licensed to her husband?  Why do you suppose she’d do that?”  Booth raised an eyebrow.

          “I thought I was coming in to fill out some paperwork and all you’ve managed to do is interrogate me about inconsistencies in Margot’s story.  What are you trying to say Agent Booth?”  Townshend ignored the questions and changed the subject.

          “See I think she gave the guns to you to get rid of and you never bothered to change the licenses over.  It was a perfectly good shotgun the town could use so you stocked it with the others in the arsenal.  Then when you went over to Leon’s and heard him ranting about the people he killed you decided to get rid of him.  I mean he killed Sheriff Boyd after all.  Boyd was one of your own and you wanted revenge.  Who better to frame than the woman whose life was turned upside down than Margot?”  Booth had a contemplating look on his face.

          “I wanted justice just like anyone else.  I wouldn’t go through the trouble of framing Margot,” Townshend replied.

          “Then why did you lie to my partner and I earlier about never receiving a call from Margot?  We checked your phone records.  You took a call from her around the time she claims she had Leon threaten her,” the G-man asked.  At this point, the Sheriff did not answer.  Sweets saw the signs he’d been looking for and went out into the hall to retrieve what Booth had wanted.  Brennan looked on as the psychologist entered the room with Margot in tow, her lawyer conveniently not present.

          “Oh hello Sweets.  Looks like you brought us a visitor,” Booth smiled.

          “Seems Margot wants to change her statement.  The DA is already thinking about accepting a plea deal so we can convict Sheriff Townshend,” Sweets played along.

          “What?”  Bob looked at her.

          “You did it Bob.  You killed Leon,” Margot said flatly.

          “I did not.  You have no evidence to prove it,” the Sheriff’s voice rose an octave.

          “See that’s where you’re wrong.  The Jeffersonian went back to the bottle of pills and it turns out we have your partials on some of the pills.  You’re one of those guys who spills out too many pills and has to put them back.  Even better is the fact that we’re having your house searched while you’re here.  Once we put it all together, Margot was kind enough to fill in the blanks last night,” Booth explained.

          “You bitch!  I did it for you and you couldn’t keep your mouth shut!”  Townshend lost it.

          “If you did it for me why were you trying to frame me?!”  Margot’s tone was just as loud as his.

          “Looks like the kids aren’t behaving Sweets, any suggestions?”  Booth wondered as he grabbed the Sheriff before he tried to take a swing at the librarian.

          “I’ll get her out of here,” the young psychologist said before grabbing the irate woman.  However, Margot was surprisingly strong for a librarian and she kicked her heel backwards hitting Sweets in the groin.  The poor man let go of her and fell down.  That’s when Brennan interrupted the spat.  The forensic anthropologist took hold of Margot by putting her in a headlock. 

          “Way to go Bones,” Booth smiled.  She gave a nod before heading back toward the exit of the interrogation room.

          Later Booth sat in his office, pulling together the paperwork he needed to finish off the case.  Since the Sheriff had already confessed, all he required was a full statement.  The best part was, he’d recorded the earlier session so that Townshend couldn’t go back on his confession.  A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts and he looked up.

          “Mind if I come in?”  Sweets asked.

          “Come on in.  Have a seat.  Sorry about earlier.  I wasn’t expecting her to do that,” Booth grimaced as the young man limped to the nearest chair.

          “To be honest, neither did I.  She wasn’t violent or so she made us believe,” Sweets tried to get comfortable in a chair near the agent’s desk.

          “Yes well, Townshend admitted to going back to Leon’s in the morning after collecting what he needed from Margot’s place.  He took one of her potatoes, used her sleeping pills, and the shotgun that her husband had registered.  We wouldn’t have even caught him if he hadn’t left those fingerprints on Leon Fick’s windowsills,” Booth gave him a slight smile.

          “Two things bother me about this though.  The first is that we didn’t find any prints other than Margot’s on the shotgun and the other is the fact that Townshend prints showed up on the sills.  Why use gloves and clean the scene but then leave your prints behind on the sill?”  Sweets questioned some of the logic.

          “The windows were opened after Leon was killed.  He probably cleaned everything up and then as an afterthought opened the windows.  Being in law enforcement, he knew that that would mess up the timeline of when the shooting occurred,” Booth explained.

          “Except Margot gave us the timeline when she told us about Leon being drunk,” the psychologist noted.

          “Exactly.  If he had shut Margot up, no one would have looked his way.  I guess that’s what really confuses me.  Here Townshend claims to have killed Leon for Margot but then tries to frame her,” the FBI agent said.

          “I think getting rid of Margot was the plan.  From what I heard from him, he is the kind of man who wouldn’t leave anything of anyone to prove what he had done.  He went through the process of framing Margot but when it came to killing her, he couldn’t do it.  Perhaps love or his conscience finally stepped in.  Leon wasn’t innocent but Margot was,” Sweets explained.

          “Well until she assaulted a Federal Psychologist.  Maybe a few months in jail will help her work out her issues.  Back to the shotgun and the fingerprints, all the Sheriff had to do was to remove Margot’s existing fingerprints from the weapon, wipe it clean, and then make copies he could wear.  The Robbery Unit caught a guy making fingerprints to trick biometric locks out of Jell-O,” Booth shook his head. 

          “What some people will do.  Well I’m going to go find some ice.  See you later,” Sweets gave a slight smile before getting up awkwardly and limping back to his office.  Booth couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s expense.  He was about to get back to the paperwork when his partner interrupted him.

          “Booth, we need to talk,” Brennan said entering his office without knocking.  She closed the door and approached his desk.

          “What’s wrong Bones?”  He asked, concerned by the look on her face.

          “Caroline called.  She said she has a weak case against Jay Moore and his lawyer says that he’ll confess but only if I am there is listen to his confession,” Brennan told him.

          “What?  And Caroline agreed?”  Booth got up from his chair and walked around the desk to his partner.

          “No, but she wants to make sure she gets him so that he doesn’t get out of prison.  I thought it wasn’t a good idea to indulge Mr. Moore’s sick fantasies but if this is the only way…” she trailed off.  By the look on her face, Booth could tell she was seriously considering it.

          “Let me talk to Caroline,” he told her as he pulled her into his arms.


	20. Chapter 20

**Federal Prison Lawyer’s Meeting Room, Friday at 9:00 am**  

                “What did you want to talk to me about Jay?”  Brennan sat across from the murderer who was chained at his ankles and wrists.  His wrists were secured to the table by the metal loop where his cuffs were kept.  Despite not being scared very easily the forensic anthropologist found herself being very uncomfortable.

          “You know what I want to talk to you about.  I killed a lot of people but then you already knew that didn’t you?”  Moore smirked.

          “Yes and we have enough evidence to prove it,” Brennan told him.

          “So why do I need to confess?”  Jay wondered.

          “I would assume that it is so your lawyer can try to get the death penalty off the table,” she said.

          “I’m not afraid of death.  We all have to die sometime, it all depends whether we go out with a bang or crying in the corner.  You know most of them cried the entire time.  They begged me to let them go; begged to see their mommies.  They cried when they realized that neither of those things would happen,” Moore tried to evoke an emotional response from the forensic anthropologist.  She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and asked,

          “So what way do you want to go?”

          “I’d prefer a bang but I guess lethal injection will do.  You know the smell was bad at first but after awhile it smelled more like roast pork.  I guess I’ll never look at pork the same way,” Jay said.  It was times like this that Booth wished he was a vegetarian.  The next time they went somewhere for ribs he’d seriously consider ordering the salad.

          “I can’t believe she’s doing this,” he muttered.

          “Hey she wanted to do this.  You tried to convince her otherwise Cherie,” Caroline told him.

          “I know.  She kept begging me to let her shoot Howard Epps so when she convinced me this was a good idea…” Booth shook his head and placed his right hand on his forehead. 

          “You’re talking about a woman that surrounds herself in death.  She wants to know everything there is to know about death.  Bones only tell you so much.  She wants to get inside their heads; why they do what they do.  Trust me Cherie, that is a place she doesn’t want to go but she’s going to have to figure that out for herself,” Caroline patted him on the back.  A knock on the one-way glass let the attorney know that Brennan was finished. 

          The car ride back to the Jeffersonian was silent.  Neither one knew what to say.  Jay Moore was a sick bastard and no words would change that.  They both walked into the lab, expecting to be alone.  With both cases over, Cam had given the team the day off.  A well deserved three day weekend was in order.  Instead what they found was Charlie in a wheelchair with Cam standing behind him.

          “Charlie, you’re back,” Booth smiled; glad to see the young agent was doing better.

          “I get to return to desk duty in three months.  I need to attend physical therapy but there is something I think you should hear from me first,” Charlie smiled back.

          “What’s up?”  The elder agent asked.

          “Once I’m cleared for active duty, I’ll be a full fledged field agent,” the young man couldn’t stop smiling.  Booth’s face lit up.

          “That’s great!”

          “We’re throwing a party,” Cam smiled.

          “Full with balloons and beer,” Hodgins smirked as he brought both items over.

          “I really like the beer part,” Simon chuckled.

          “And I’m the designated driver,” Angela shook her head. 

          “Well let’s get the party started then,” Booth grabbed a beer from the entomologist as the group headed for the loft.  They had a party and forgot about what had occurred in the morning.  There would be time to think on the ugliness of world later.  Now was the time to enjoy a celebration with friends.  Darkness could be around any corner but enjoying the time they had together was exactly what they needed.

**THE END**


End file.
